As It Seems
by AnthroQueen
Summary: They're happy and normal, at least for a time. But there's a storm brewing on the horizon; just because General Krantz has been executed doesn't mean The Company's been obliterated. After all, not everything is as it seems…
1. One

**Hello! Thanks for choosing "As It Seems!" I'm new to the Prison Break fandom- I write mainly for LOST and Community- but I watched the show this past fall and got a little (read: a _lot_) obsessed. I, like many of you, was pretty upset about the ending. As tragically beautiful as it was, I felt dissatisfied with the way things turned out. So... This story was born. Please feel free to offer constructive criticism. It's always greatly appreciated!**

**This story stemmed from my frustration with the finale. It was then pointed out to me that, upon the conclusion of the series, two Scylla cardholders were still alive. The wheels started turning and, well, here we are. This story, just to preface things, is non-epilogue/Final Break compliant. Therefore, for the purposes of this story, everything ended with that last scene on the beach and without the nosebleed, thank you very much. Why? Because fuck you, Fox, that's why. ;)**

* * *

One

It's the calm before the storm. The clouds are thick and full, dark and aching with the desire to let loose. The mid-evening air smells of the oncoming rain and it's eerily quiet; not even the seagulls disrupt the silence, knowing all to well what will become of them if they were to stay for the onslaught of rain. The winds are picking up speed, tousling the palm fronds and sending clotted clumps of seaweed and endless grains of sand through the humid air, readying themselves for the downpour that would inevitably take place. There is a low rumble of thunder a few miles down the beach; a quick, white-hot flash of lightning across the grey sky is the final straw. The sky opens and the raindrops fall, thick and wet, upon the grounds of his Clearwater, Florida mansion. He is grateful for the roof over his head and the giant pane of glass separating him from these angry elements.

His home is giant and empty- much like his life, he thinks bitterly as he heads down the abandoned hallway towards the ornate dining room. In the days before the fiasco, it had been filled with cheerful houseguests, a stunningly lovely wife and the sounds of children's laughter brightening even the darkest of days. The walls had not, then, cried of despair as they do now; on the contrary, they had been quite bright, quite joyful. Now, however, the wallpaper is peeling and the grandfather clock in the hall always chimes low and mournful and his home doesn't feel like a home at all. Now, it feels like a prison and it's just ironic, really. He'd been one of the few to escape prison and yet his own sanctuary felt like an entrapment of sorts.

But not for long. He's sure of it.

He opens the door to the dining room and barely acknowledges the ten or so people seated comfortably around his glass table. It's uncharacteristically dark in here, too; he flips the switch in the corner of the room, but the lavish chandelier only flickers a moment before going out. He grumbles obscenities and takes a seat at the head of the table. Quickly giving the table's occupants a once-over, he realizes, a bit unsurprisingly, that there is one person missing. But it's not as if he really expected _her_ to show up, anyway. Instead, he pulls a manila folder from the inside of his jacket and places it delicately on the table. The two members on each side of him eye the folder eagerly and he gives them a reproachful look.

"All in due time," He says quietly before addressing the table fully. "Thank you for being here tonight. I know we're not up to full capacity anymore, but we've still managed to meet under the circumstances. I'm sure he would have been very proud. Now, let us bow our heads in a moment of silence to our great and fearless leader."

They do as they're told and a full minute has passed before he speaks again. "My friends, we have been nearly decimated. Once an organization that spanned the entire globe… Now, the only remaining members are the ones that sit in this very room. But alas, are we going to let that stop us? Because as far as I'm concerned, there's still something we haven't yet accomplished. We have not yet infiltrated and taken over the United States of America."

The members of the table eye him greedily and excitedly, ravenous with the passion for power. He then addresses the man to his left, "I suspect you have something you'd like to tell me, Heath."

"Yes sir," The man named Heath states, his voice unwavering. "The whereabouts of Miss Gretchen Morgan have been determined. It is confirmed that she is currently serving a sentence of fifteen years at Miami-Dade Penitentiary."

"Good," He grins wickedly. "And the other manner we discussed?"

"Taken care of, sir," Heath says and motions towards door at the south end of the room. "Norton! Bring her in!"

The man designated Norton leads a trembling young girl into the room, pale and frightened. She glances around fearfully at the other members in the room, her bright blue eyes wide with shock. He nods to Norton and says, "That will do. Durham, North Carolina. Thank you, Norton."

"Yes, sir," Norton obliges and drags the girl out of sight.

He then turns to the woman sitting on his right. "Stacy, you better have good news for me."

"I'm afraid not, sir," She says warily. "We are still unable to get a lock on their location. They could be living under aliases, for all we know. But I've got my best PIs on the case and we'll get them as soon as we can."

"Good," He sighs in frustration. "Because we have waited too long. My friends and colleagues, you were promised a life of fortune and glory and you were deprived! You've lost friends, family members, coworkers and good citizens of this country all to a couple of cons who couldn't keep their nose out of everyone else's business. It's time we stop living in fear of the law and put _them_ back in this fear. It's time we live up to the great vision our dearly departed Jonathan created and executed almost flawlessly. It's time to take back what is _rightfully_ ours, simply because we created it."

"It's time, simply, to rebuild," Nathaniel Edison states, adamant and clear. "We are not going to sit around any longer and watch as our lives crumble and their lives flourish."

He opens the manila folder and pulls out the glossy photos of their enemies. "It's time, my friends. It's time to bring down Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows. _For good_."

* * *

Wipe down the counters, run the dishwasher, vacuum the living room, sweep the kitchen, run a load of laundry, and give the kids a bath. These are all the things Sara Scofield has to do tonight before she can go to sleep, wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

But honestly, she's looking forward to the chores. There was a time when she thought she'd never get here, after all.

When she was a little girl and her parents' friends had asked her what she wanted when she grew up, Sara never hesitated to tell them she wanted to be a doctor; she wanted to help people and she wanted to be happy and successful. Unlike her friends, she had never said that she wanted to get married, have lots of babies and be the devoted housewife who always has a warm meal on the table and cookies baking in the oven. She just didn't see the point in that uselessly boring life; where was the adrenaline? The excitement? The differences in the world she could be making were sufficiently lacking from her friends' monotonous lifestyles.

But then she spent eight months as a convict on the run from the law and decided boring actually sounded way more appealing.

She's not sure when it hit her that she was in love with Michael Scofield. Perhaps it's when she made the life-changing decision to leave that infirmary door unlocked or when he set his determined blue eyes on her right before their first kiss or maybe when his desperately broken disposition as he asked for her help had made her weak in the knees and helpless to deny him. Either way, it was ultimately her downfall; she had lost everything she ever had- her family, her sanity, her sobriety- but she'd never lost her love for him. And, even though she was eternally a pessimist at heart (she prefers the term _realist_, actually, because it isn't quite as negative), when he had promised her that everything would, one day, be okay, she'd actually believed him.

And wouldn't you know it? Here they are.

They married on that very beach where they had once talked of hands-on Dads and their baby's first steps. It had been an incredibly small ceremony; the only attendees had been Lincoln, Fernando and Alex, but that's what their family had dwindled down to, sadly. Following this, they hadn't really known what to do next. Fernando had returned to Chicago to be with his family, Alex had followed Kellerman back to Washington in search of a job, and the Burrows-Scofield clan had just sort of… stayed put. They weren't on the run anymore, but they still attracted stares everywhere they went. Cashiers would double glance at them, passersby would avert their gazes or cross the street when passing, and in general, they just weren't welcome in the public's eye.

Lincoln suggested moving back to Panama. It had been a fine enough home for him, LJ and Sofia the month or so they'd lived there. But the ghastly look on Sara's face told them otherwise; no doubt she was remembering the horrors she'd endured there and certainly the last place on Earth she'd want to live was Panama. Michael had grasped her hand reassuringly and told Lincoln they'd have to find somewhere else to go. Surely, he'd understood. In search of a place to live that wouldn't put them in the spotlight, they'd moved around like nomads for a month or so before finally finding a good place to settle down; a place no one would willingly move to- Syracuse, New York.

Syracuse offered everything they wanted and everything no one else did. It was a vastly large city- one of the largest in the entire state- so they could easily get lost in the anonymity of strangers. It was smack dab in the middle of the state as well, certainly not a border town and therefore was not easily accessible. Syracuse was grungy and dingy, much like Chicago, though they knew they could never go back there. Too risky. Also home to Syracuse University, they knew there were plenty of college kids who had never heard of or were too busy to give a shit about them. They were fairly safe and out of harm's way. They found apartment complexes far enough away from each other for privacy but close enough for convenience and called it a day.

But there's a reason Michael suggested Syracuse- the awful weather makes it an undesirable city to those who do not hail from there. There are maybe three months worth of sunlight and clear blue skies in the entire year. The rest of the time- October to April, usually- the city operates under a dull and depressing sky of grey, sometimes even white, and there is almost always some kind of precipitation falling from the sky. Rain, if you are lucky; the thunderstorms are brutal and the rain always seems to fall sideways, pelting you in the face despite your best efforts to stay dry under a hood and umbrella. Ice storms characterize the months of January and February, bathing the entire city in a silky and lethal sheen of sleet. But the snow… Syracuse is the snowiest city in the country and with good reason. The amount of snow in Syracuse continues to shock and infuriate its residents year after year.

"It's the last place anyone would look for us," Michael reasons with his skeptical wife and brother. "Because it's the _last_ place anyone would want to live."

So, gone are the days of dreaming of sailing off to points unknown, although Sara still keeps this thought in the back of her mind, hoping when they're old and gray to return to it. She and Michael existed quite comfortably in Syracuse, mostly due to the anonymity and the fact that the summer had not yet waned inevitably into fall and winter. They bought groceries and set up a nursery and finally went on their much-awaited date. They went to prenatal checkups and learned they were having a boy and celebrated by making love into the early hours of the morning. They slept late and indulged in Sara's pregnancy cravings and watched from afar as college kids moved back to town, studied hard and partied harder. And when the months added up and their son finally arrived, they realized this whole thing was _real_. They could finally be a normal and happy family, just like they'd always wanted.

They named their son Noah Charles; Noah, meaning "peace" and "rest"- two things that Michael and Sara felt they deserved and finally had- and Charles, meaning "free"- something they never thought they'd be and will never take for granted. Their son had been their little miracle; their one shining ray of hope in their darkest depths of despair and anguish. His conception could not have come had a worse time, but it also was something they unknowingly and undoubtedly needed. Put simply, he was their one glimmer of hope and he had not disappointed. Noah meant the beginning of a new and beautiful life together; something they craved ever since being reunited following the disaster in Panama. He was the sign that a radiant future was ahead and everything in their bleak past was officially over.

Twenty-seven months later, the arrival of his younger sister Zoe Faith (Zoe, meaning "life"- another thing they'd never take for granted- and Faith, being their mantra all those years they'd hoped things would one day be okay) marked the completion of their ideal and surreal little family. Fast-forward four years, to the present, and here they are, still living comfortably and blissfully in Syracuse. As the years went on, people had stopped second glancing at them, had stopped avoiding their eyes and had stopped turning around and walking the other way when they came near. Every now and then, they would get a, "Hey, aren't you….?" but they could usually diffuse the situation before it became a full-scale riot. It had all blown over and things had, strangely, gone back to normal, just like Michael had said they would all those years ago.

"_Do you believe that? That you can get it all back?_"

"_I choose to have faith. Because without that, I have nothing_."

It wasn't true, of course. He had plenty. He had his brother's freedom on his hands and his friends' never-ending trust and his blind, sometimes frustrating optimism. He had his tireless plans and his quick-thinking attitude and his sheer brilliance. He had his dreams and his schemes and his fixed, unwavering goals. He had her, too, but he'd always had her. Sara's sure he'd had her from the very start ("_I'm Michael, by the way._" "_Scofield. I read your report_."). Right from the beginning she'd given him her trust, her confidence, her love. Michael had had all these things; he needn't rely solely on faith. Of course, there were many things he was very clearly lacking. Freedom, for one. Safety, security and all the other things he'd given up the moment he fired that gun and signed his life away to Fox River.

But it's okay. He has these things now.

It's late March of 2012 and though that may mean spring for most of the country, Syracuse has never gotten this memo. Sara watches, grimly, as a sprinkling of snow dusts the unexposed streets and grounds surrounding their apartment complex, absentmindedly loading the dishwasher and wondering why she ever agreed to live here. Chicago had been dreary and dull, but it's nothing compared to the environment she's stuck in now. Still, she doesn't complain; anywhere is better than prison or the warehouse or Panama, for God's sake. Plus she's with Michael and that's all she's ever wanted. She certainly isn't going to protest spending the rest of her life with him, no matter where they are.

The kitchen is clean, now, and the torrent sound of water signals her dishes are being scoured clean, so Sara moves on to the next item on her list. A load of laundry is piled into the washing machine, detergent and fabric softener measured out evenly, and when this is underway Sara decides the living room can go another day without running a vacuum through it. She checks the clock and does a double take as she realizes it's already almost eight o'clock. It takes her a moment to locate her daughter, but when she does, a smile spreads across her face- Zoe is bent over her ornate dollhouse, adjusting every little detail. She moves the couch over an inch, refolds the blanket on bed so it's even and neat and pushes in the chairs of the miniature dining room table so they're all aligned. Sara watches all of this and realizes, as Zoe moves back a bit to survey her work, that she thinks in the exact way Michael does- calm and patient and precise.

"Zoe babe," Sara interrupts and her daughter's eyes, cool and piercing and blue, snap up to meet her mother's. "Time for your bath!"

"Okay," The four-year-old agrees, snatching a few dolls from their pristine home as she stands. "But Rosie and Violet and Lily are coming too. They want to go for a swim."

Giving the kids a bath is a chore that never seems like a chore, at least not to Sara. She loves to hear all their little thoughts; now that they're old enough to produce grammatically correct sentences, she's able to have real conversations with them, even if their troubles are purely childlike and trivial. Tonight, Sara's content just to watch her daughter play. She has a dreamfully large imagination; her dolls are first tanning on the beach, then suffering a shark attack, then scuba diving into a brilliant coral reef, and finally becoming able-bodied mermaids who could shed their fins easily if they wanted to return to land. Sara wonders if she'd ever been this creative, as a child. Long before the days in which she'd been tested, tortured and dragged through hell and back, had she too dreamed of princesses, mermaids and fantasies? She's not sure, but she is entirely and eternally grateful that _her_ kids won't ever have to go through the trauma their parents have been through.

Sara's halfway through rinsing the berry-scented shampoo out of Zoe's hair ("It's snowing on the beach!" Zoe exclaims as the white foam falls into the surrounding bathwater. "Everyone, get in the water!") when there's a fierce knock on their apartment door. She and her daughter are both instantly quiet; she hadn't been expecting visitors and even though their ordeal had been through for years and even though Lincoln did have a tendency to drop by unannounced whenever he felt like it, this still didn't stop the growing paranoia and dread from forming in the pit of her stomach. She finishes rinsing the soap from Zoe before there's another knock on the front door, this one stronger and more powerful than the one before. Whoever it is means _business_.

"Who's here, Mommy?" Zoe asks, rubbing her eyes and emitting a yawn as Sara drains the tub before her.

"I don't know, honey," Sara responds uneasily, wrapping her daughter in a fluffy towel and lifting her into her arms, securing her on her hip.

"Maybe it's Daddy," Zoe offers as they leave the bathroom and cross the apartment, towards the door. "Maybe he forgot his key."

"Yeah, maybe," She responds, but is unconvinced, and realizes only after she's approached the door that bringing her daughter hadn't been such a smart idea. If this person on the other side of the door is some kind of danger, what kind of mother puts her child in harm's way?

Sara leans forward and checks the peephole just then- her first line of defense. She doesn't see Michael, Lincoln or anyone she could possibly expect. What she _does_ see- or, _whom_ she does see, technically- shocks her immediately and does nothing to ease the fear, paranoia and dread she'd previously acquired. She unlocks the door with one hand, balancing Zoe on her hip with the other, and releases the deadbolt, pulling the door open heavily and still entirely surprised by the visitor standing before her. He'd been facing the end of the hallway a moment earlier, when she'd checked, but as the door swings open, he turns to meet her face to face.

It's been seven years, almost, so he definitely looks a bit different. He has a handful of grey hairs, stress lines on his forehead and a small trace of stubble not yet shaved away. But he's still almost exactly the same. He still stands with that practiced posture, still has his damaging hands thrust deep into his pockets, and still has the cool, no-nonsense stare. He's still dressed in a polished suit, a striped silk tie, and black patent leather loafers. He still looks at Sara as if he understands her presence and appreciates her use, but she still isn't his first choice of company. His eyes dart between hers to Zoe's and then back before he smiles politely but purposefully. And Sara's still in shock.

"Hello, Sara," Alexander Mahone greets. "We need to talk."


	2. Two

**Hello again! Thank you so much for the feedback! It's greatly appreciated. I just want to clarify something I noticed while I was proofreading the last chapter. Syracuse is not as bad as I'm making it out to be. It's a pit, yes, but most cities are. The weather, however, _is_ as bad as I'm making it out to be lol. I go to Syracuse University, so believe me, I'm suffering. :P Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Constructive criticism is, as always, welcome!**

* * *

Two

She's still staring at him a full minute or so later and she's surprised her mouth hasn't dropped open. Alex glances down, shuffles his feet a little, and glances up at her again, saying, "That surprising, huh?"

"Well, forgive me, but it's been years," Sara finally answers. "Alex… What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you, too, Sara," Alex says wryly and then adds, "And like I said, we have to talk."

"Right," She notes and then steps back, ushering him over the threshold and into their apartment. "Well, come in. Come in."

He does so, wiping his shoes on the doormat and commenting on the out of season weather. In Washington, he claims, it's been sunny and seventy degrees for the past month. Syracuse, Sara explains, is not like the rest of the country. She then gently sets Zoe down and guides her toward her bedroom, instructing the young girl to dress in her pajamas; she does as she's told but continues to give the stranger in her apartment side-glances the entire way there. If this bothers Alex in any way, he doesn't say; instead he sits in an armchair when Sara tells him to make himself at home and then agrees to the cup of coffee she's just offered him.

"Your home's very nice," Alex compliments and Sara murmurs a thank you. "Where's Michael?"

"That's what we're waiting for?" Sara asks, pouring him a steaming mug of coffee and handing it over, sitting across from him on the couch.

He nods and sips diligently. "I just don't want to repeat myself."

She smiles slowly. "He's at the pharmacy. Noah has an ear infection."

"That's too bad."

"Not really. Kids get them all the time at that age."

There is a moment of awkward silence that is thankfully broken by Zoe reentering the room, clad in a frilly, sparkly nightgown, periwinkle against her downy skin. Her hair is damp and tangled, but she's carrying a thin comb in order to rectify this. Sara pulls her onto her lap and immediately begins working the knots. Zoe stares inquisitively at Alex for a minute or two before asking, "Who are you?"

"My name's Alex," He answers friendlily. "What's yours?"

"Zoe," She answers shortly, toying with the ruffled edge of her nightgown.

"Alex is an old friend of mine and Daddy's," Sara explains, smoothing the comb through her daughter's wet hair. "We worked together a long time ago."

"Cool," Zoe approves. "Did you work with my uncle Lincoln, too?"

Alex chuckles. "I did. How is your uncle Lincoln?"

"He's good," Zoe answers and then whimpers when Sara snags her hair. "Ow, Mommy!"

"I'm sorry, Zo," She bites her lip. "Your hair is a mess."

"Mommy always hurts my head when she combs my hair," Zoe tells Alex matter-of-factly. "Daddy says I should just cut it all off but then I'd look like a boy. No hair's for boys."

"Oh really?" Alex chuckles and Sara smirks, shaking her head.

Suddenly, the front door twists open and Noah tumbles into the apartment, tracking snow and muddy slush onto the hardwood floors. Sara cringes as she watches the droplets of snow and dirt fall onto her clean floor, but she realizes it's a problem for another time. Noah, in a hurried frenzy, sets the CVS bag down on the floor beside him before pulling off his mittens, hat, boots and coat hastily. He turns to face the room, his stunning hazel-green eyes scanning the situation, before coming to rest on the stranger sitting a few feet away. He visibly tenses a bit- stranger danger- glancing warily at his mother.

"Hi Noah," Sara grins warmly. "Where's Dad?"

"Parking the car. There's a lot of snow in the way," Noah states cautiously, glancing over at Alex.

"Hey bud," Alex waves slightly. "How are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess," Noah shrugs. "Do I know you?"

"That's Mommy and Daddy's friend Alex," Zoe explains, still toying with her sparkly nightgown. "He worked with them."

At this, Noah seems intrigued. "Are you the secret agent? The spy? That's what uncle Linc said."

Zoe gasps. "Are you a ninja?"

Both Alex and Sara erupt into laughter. Sara explains, "Uncle Linc said he was a _special_ agent, honey. Not a secret agent."

"Oh," Noah says and therefore he is no longer interested in Alex's demeanor. He turns, instead, to the bag he dropped earlier. "Zoe, look what I got!"

He produces a brightly colored package from the bag- a Ring Pop and Sara's surprised to find these are still in production. "Look, it's twisted- blue raspberry watermelon so it's blue and red!"

Zoe squirms off of Sara's lap and pouts immediately. "That's not fair! I want one!"

"I got you one too," Noah smiles, handing her a similar package. "It's berry blast, see? Pink and blue!"

"Ooh, yummy!" Zoe squeals and then turns to her mother. "Can I eat it now?"

Sara immediately shakes her head. "It's way too late for candy, babe. Tomorrow."

Just then, as the kids are protesting her decision, Michael enters the apartment, shaking snow off his form as he does so. "What is the point of the city paying for plow service if they don't keep up with the snow?"

"You're the one that wanted to live here," Sara tells him cheekily.

He smirks at her and begins a response, but only then notices Alex's presence. "Alex? To what do we owe the honor?"

"We have some business to discuss," Alex answers, no-nonsense once again. "I'm sorry to interrupt like this, but it's important."

Michael and Sara share a glance, the latter saying, "Let me give Noah a bath quickly?"

"I can do it myself," Noah grumbles from beside her. Zoe's still eyeing the lollipops hungrily.

"You're still too young, bud," Sara disagrees and plucks the Ring Pops out of their grasp, placing them high on the counter and out of reach. "Come on. Let's go."

They head to the bathroom and Zoe looks crestfallen at the missing candy. Michael, in an effort to cheer her up, asks, "Zo-Zo, do you want to watch a movie in Mommy and Daddy's room?"

Her face brightens. "Can I watch _Princess and the Frog_?"

"Of course," Michael grins. "Want me to come set it up?"

But Zoe's already halfway to their bedroom. "No, I know how!"

Michael laughs, turning back to Alex. "Sorry. Life's a little insane around here."

"No, it's okay," Alex nods. "She's beautiful. Zoe is."

"Of course she is," Michael comments. "She looks exactly like Sara. A carbon-copy, almost."

"Oh, completely," Alex agrees. "But she seems like a great kid. They both do. I can't believe I hadn't met them yet, until tonight."

"You've been busy," Michael observes. "I'm sure being Kellerman's lackey has been draining, to say the least."

Alex sighs heavily. "It's been no picnic, I'll tell you that."

"So what's this really about, Alex?" Michael asks, a little impatiently. "I'm sure you didn't come to Syracuse just to chat."

"No, I didn't. I wish I could say this was a friendly visit," Alex begins. "But-"

"But the government doesn't come for friendly visits," Michael finishes, taking a seat on the couch. "I get it."

From down the hall, they hear the bathroom door open and Noah's animated voice telling Sara about school that day. She's half-listening to him, half-paying attention to the tense situation between her husband and her former colleague as they make their way to Noah's bedroom. Moments later, when he's dried, dressed and settled into the movie with Zoe, Sara closes off their bedroom door and enters the living room, thoroughly dreading what she's about to find out. Alex nods in acknowledgment as she makes her presence known; Michael smiles at her as she sits beside him. He places a warm, comforting hand on her knee and she covers his hand with her own.

"So," She breathes. "What's going on?"

"I don't even know where to begin," Alex exhales. "You know I've been working with Kellerman and multiple members of the United Nations to find a use for Scylla, right?"

At the very mention of Scylla, a shiver of anxiety runs down Sara's spine. Michael tightens his hold on her knee a bit and says, "We were aware of your employment, yes."

"Well everything was going great, for a while," Alex goes on. "We had a list of names and we managed to incarcerate about ninety-five percent of the Company operatives in registration."

"Good. Let them rot in prison."

"That's the plan," Alex continues. "But we don't have an official manifest; the names we did have were from those willing to talk once Krantz was executed. So there's no way of knowing how many operatives we have left. The Company wasn't posing a huge threat to the nation anymore, the crime rate decreased dramatically, and so we let it go."

"Wouldn't be the first time the government didn't finish a job, right?" Michael drones sarcastically and Alex nods his agreement.

"Exactly," He says. "I was always against the discontinuation of our search. The last thing I wanted to do was continue on with my life as if those bastards weren't still out there. But I did, because Kellerman promised they weren't a threat anymore. He said that I could move on, that we _all_ could move on, because there wasn't anything to worry about anymore."

"And I'm guessing, since you're here, that's no longer the case," Sara concludes and Alex hesitates a minute before confirming this.

"Do you remember the six Scylla cardholders?" Alex asks and Michael smirks.

"They're pretty hard to forget."

"The General was executed in prison four years following our public takedown," Alex lists. "Before his death, however, Lisa Tabak resigned from The Company and her whereabouts are currently unknown. She could be dead, too, for all I know. But I do know that The General shot and killed Scuderi and ordered the deaths of both Tuxhorn and Oren before heading to prison and dying himself."

"That leaves us with one cardholder, Nathaniel Edison." Alex states. "And he is our enemy."

"He's the one from the horse race? The day you were arrested?" Sara asks.

"Yes," Alex confirms. "He's the one. But things have changed since then and now. We don't know where he is or how many people he has with him. We don't know what he's capable of or how much manpower he can produce. But we captured and are currently holding one of his men in custody in D.C., so we _do_ know his plans."

"He's going to rebuild The Company," Alex says. "And with enough resources and people to spread the word, he's going to succeed."

"We walked away from this," Michael frowns. "We moved on with our lives. Kellerman said it was over!"

"It's not over," Alex shakes his head. "Not by a long shot."

"It's not over because you didn't end it," Sara counters. "That doesn't make it our problem."

"I had a feeling you might say that," Alex sighs. "Look, the bottom line is we can't do this without you. Either of you, really. We need your minds and your expertise."

"And what do we get out of this little bargain?" Michael asks. "The satisfaction of a job well done?"

"That, and the freedom to live your lives uninhibited," Alex answers matter-of-factly. "For real this time."

Sara catches Michael's eye, then, in time to share one of their many unspoken conversations. It's an option even though Alex hasn't presented it as one, and as much as she wants to decline, to disagree with Alex and pretend everything's still okay, she can't take that chance, not with the kids on the line. Michael's looking at her with an apologetic and pleading look and it isn't his fault so she's not sure why. But she smiles slowly, sadly, as if resigning a bit of life over to The Company once more. She'd do this- _they'd_ do this- if it meant regaining their blissful, carefree life. Michael moves his hand, interlaces it with hers, and turns back to Alex.

"What do we do?"

"We have to crush them before they can rebuild," Alex states firmly. "We have to fight back."


	3. Three

**Hello again, friends! I'm trying update as quickly as I can haha. Who knows what'll happen, though, when I go back to work tomorrow. Working with kiddies tires me out. :P Anyway, thank you so incredibly much for your response. It humbles me and makes me want to continue! I very much enjoyed reading your reactions, so keep them coming! Enjoy! **

* * *

Three

"I've already arranged transportation for Sucre," Alex announces a minute later. "And Lincoln is onboard as well. I've got a lead on a guy in Miami; we're meeting there tomorrow."

"You did all of this already?" Sara asks, incredulous. "You got everyone together without even telling us?"

"I'm telling you now," Alex frowns. "I knew you would be the hardest to convince."

"I doubt Lincoln and Sucre just agreed without hesitation," Michael replies. "I know my brother; he must have set a dictation of terms."

"And Fernando has a family, too, now," Sara counters. "I don't think he'd just up and leave them at the first sign of danger."

"Oh they were difficult, don't get me wrong," Alex shakes his head. "Sucre made us promise we'd never contact him again and Lincoln wanted a guarded safe house for LJ and Sofia. But they agreed, ultimately. We're getting a move on as soon as possible. Kellerman and I have done what we can to keep a tight lid on this operation, but it's moving fast."

"So you have a lead in Miami," Sara shrugs. "What do you plan on doing about it?"

"Well, that's the problem," Alex sighs. "Whereas last time we knew everyone we were dealing with, this time it's not that simple. This time, anyone could be a suspect. This lead, according to Kellerman, can connect us with someone who has at least an idea of where the others could be."

"I'm guessing we're not just going to talk to him," Michael assumes. "I'm sure they're armed and I don't know if you've noticed but my life's been more of LEGOs and Barbie dolls than guns, lately."

Sara grins fondly. "I don't even know if I remember how to use one."

"I know two ex-Company operatives that think differently," Alex retorts smartly and Sara's grin wanes slightly. "Kellerman's dealing with the weapons; I'm just the recruiter. I figured we could meet here tomorrow morning before this all starts to go over our plans. Lincoln and Kellerman are already planning on it."

"That sounds fine."

"This whole operation shouldn't take more than a week or two, tops," Alex states reasonably. "Can I count on you two? I really would like to tell Kellerman I got all of you."

Sara nods but Michael's hesitant. They both look at him in confusion and he avoids Sara's eye when he says, "I have one condition."

"Name it."

"Sara's not coming."

If Alex is surprised, he doesn't show it. But Sara is immediately alarmed. "What? Why?"

"Someone has to stay with the kids," Michael reasons with her, even though she's having none of it. "And if God forbid anything should happen, I'm not orphaning these children."

"Don't even talk like that. Nothing is going to happen," She shakes her head, adamant. "The kids will go to the safe house with LJ and Sofia and they'll be fine. I'm not going to sit around worrying while you guys go gallivanting around the country risking your lives. It's not happening."

"Well I'm not risking _your_ life by putting you in danger," Michael says firmly.

"So you would rather put yourself in danger?"

"If it meant that you and the kids were safe, yes."

"I think we learned the hard way, last time, what happens when the two of us are separated," Sara counteracts. "You really want to take a gamble and assume that won't happen again?"

"It won't," Michael disagrees. "Because you'll be with LJ and Sofia and the kids at the safe house and you'll be fine. We'll know where you are at all times and when it's all over, we'll come get you guys and we can finally move on."

She says nothing, only looks at him in disbelief and frustration, but breaks when he says, pleadingly, "Sara, please? _Please_."

"Fine," Sara offers, tight-lipped. She turns to Alex and says, "Nice to see you again, Alex. Good luck with everything. I'm going to go put the kids to bed."

Without another word, she stands and heads down the hallway, towards the master bedroom. Michael exhales and says, "She's pissed at me."

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "But you did the right thing."

"Did I?" Michael asks skeptically and Alex nods.

"Of course," He glances down at his hands briefly. "You've got to protect your family. You only get one of those."

There's unspoken tension in the air, just then, and it doesn't take a genius to realize it stems from Alex's broken past. Michael watches Alex fiddle nervously with his cuff links and toy with his fingers, thinking only of the little boy he'd never known and would never meet. It couldn't have been easy on Alex, Michael thinks, to watch Noah earlier, six years old and thriving- something Cameron would never be. It's for this reason exactly that Michael is sending his family away. He can't bear the thought of losing any one of them; the grief that Alex has suffered and continues to suffer haunts Michael to this day.

Before he can offer sympathy or condolences, however, Alex stands and says, "Well that about covers it. We'll be here first thing tomorrow to talk logistics and head to the airport. We've booked the ten-fifteen to Miami, so be ready."

"I will," Michael nods. "Take care, Alex."

"Yeah, you too," Alex says, shrugging into his coat and heading out into the night.

Michael sits alone with his thoughts a moment later- _Nathaniel Edison's rounding up former Company members, they're rebuilding The Company, anyone could be a suspect_- before he realizes he is ridiculously overwhelmed. It becomes too much and so he does the first thing he can think of- he calls Lincoln. It's nearing ten o'clock now and he can hear the kids' protests in the other room chiming in time with the dial tone moments before Lincoln picks up on the other end. It must be some kind of brotherly telepathy because Michael doesn't even have to say what's on his mind; Lincoln opens with,

"_They got you too, huh?_"

"How did you guess?" Michael drones sarcastically. "I have absolutely no interest in getting involved in this again, but since there's a chance that this might actually be the last time, we're going to give it a shot."

"_Guess you could look at it like that. I'm wondering why we didn't hop the border while we had the chance. We didn't have to go back to Panama. I'd never do that to Sara. But anything could've worked. Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Honduras… I heard in St. Thomas you don't even need a Social Security number!_"

"Linc, we're not running," Michael sighs. "We're done running, remember?"

"_Yeah, well we were supposed to be done with this bullshit too._"

"Yeah, you're right," He replies. "I don't know how we're going to pull this off."

"_You broke out of two prisons, Michael. I'm sure you'll figure something out. It can't be that hard to track down fifteen people_."

"Except for the fact that it could be anyone," Michael adds and Lincoln sighs.

"_Yeah. There's that._"

"What did you have in mind for a safe house?" He then asks. "Sara and the kids'll be joining Sofia and LJ."

"_You're making her stay behind, huh?_"

"I can't risk losing her, Linc."

"_Sara's pretty indestructible, man. I mean, you haven't lost her yet._"

"It's not for The Company's lack of trying, that's for sure," Michael comments. "I'm thinking if we're spending all this time in Miami we should keep them close enough that we can reach them in case anything happens, but far enough away that The Company won't be able to touch them."

"_So you have a place in mind, then?_"

"Yeah, an old friend owes me a favor anyway," Michael says. "So we're really doing this, then?"

"_I don't see where we have a choice. But if this doesn't work, man, I swear to God I'm on the next flight to Mexico. And if Kellerman ever contacts me again, it'll be the last thing he ever does._"

"Don't kill Paul, Linc," Michael states. "You killing someone is what got us into this mess in the first place."

"_No, I never killed anyone. Dad's double-crossing bullshit is what got us into this mess. How is it that we got two pieces of shit for parents, anyway?_"

"We're just that lucky, I guess." Michael jokes. "You know that our family's always been immensely lucky."

"_Don't I know it. It figures that they'd try and fuck us over again just when things are finally going great._"

"Yeah," Michael frowns. "Tell me about it."

The conversation lasts a few minutes more before ending on a less-than-pleasant note. Michael digs through his briefcase for his notepad and begins to take down everything they know so far. He remembers, grimly, doing the same thing all those years ago on that giant white board. As he lists everything he knows and remembers about Nathaniel Edison, he has flashes of their time in the warehouse- cataloguing the Scylla cardholders, living on the boat with Sara, listening to Lincoln constantly reprimand Roland for his nonsensical comments- and wishes more than anything that Kellerman would have finished his job. He wishes that Kellerman could have manned up and used Scylla for good, could have milked all the possible information out of Krantz while he had the chance, instead of waiting and having Michael and the old Scylla team do it for him.

When information runs dry, Michael abandons his notepad and pen and decides to turn in. It had been an unexpectedly long day and who knows when he'd get another good night's sleep? It's closer to eleven, now, and he's sure the both the kids and Sara are long since asleep. He passes Zoe's room first and steps in soundlessly. She's curled around a teddy bear she's had since she was an infant and still sucking her thumb even though they've tried incessantly to get her to stop. He bends down and presses a kiss to her cool cheek, whispers his love and watches his daughter slumber on. He hopes she's dreaming of something beautiful and majestic, because she'll never have to worry about the dangers he must.

He leaves Zoe's room and crosses the hall towards Noah's next. His room is immaculately clean and every toy is exactly in its designated place, just how he likes it. His outer space nightlight is glowing green in the corner of the room and projecting a full galaxy of stars across the pristine white ceiling, although the six-year-old is too far off somewhere in dreamland to notice. He's sprawled out across his bed, half of his limbs hanging over the side and his bed sheets and blankets strewn about here and there. His little chest is rising and falling and Michael grins at the sight. At the time of his conception, they hadn't been sure this child would ever get a chance at a normal life. As he bends over him, now, to kiss his forehead and declare his love, Michael promises his son that he will remain safe, no matter what.

Sara's left the bathroom light on for him he notices a moment later, when he's entered the room. It's a small thing and it's probably subconscious, but it still makes him smile. He's never been happier in his entire life than in these past seven years spent with her; he knows it and she knows it, or at least he hopes she does. He tells her all the time. He also tells her, after everything that's gone wrong and all the damage he's caused, that he doesn't deserve to be this happy and he certainly doesn't deserve someone like her, even though this comment truly disappoints her. She tells him his self-esteem needs work; he agrees. But he loves her with all his heart and is still surprised everyday by how much she loves him too. He'll spend the rest of his life proving he deserves it.

He showers quickly and readies himself for bed, entering their darkened bedroom to find Sara already there, facing the wall so he can't tell if she's asleep or not. He's assuming the latter. He climbs into bed slowly, careful not to disturb her if she is in fact asleep, and lies motionless for a while. When she doesn't respond to his presence, he asks, "Sara? Are you still awake?"

"Yeah," She whispers quietly, but says nothing more.

He knows the answer, but he asks anyway. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you, Michael," She sighs heavily. "I just… I'm frustrated and annoyed and…"

She doesn't finish, but she doesn't have to. Michael nods his agreement. "I know. I am, too. The last thing I want to do is get involved in this disaster again. Actually, the last thing I want to do is break out of another prison again, but this is a close second."

She smirks. "No more breakouts, Scofield?"

"Nah," He shakes his head. "I'm retired."

"I don't want to do this again," She confesses. "I didn't want to do it the first time."

"I know. I'm sorry I dragged you into it."

"You didn't drag me into anything," Sara replies, rolling onto her back and staring mindlessly at the ceiling. "What was the alternative? They killed Bruce; I'm sure they would've leapt at the chance to kill me too. I stuck it out because we had to and it was worth it. I just wish…"

"It was over?" Michael finishes and Sara nods slowly.

"Yeah. I wish it was over."

"I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault."

"You don't think anything is my fault."

"I think _many_ things are your fault," Sara disagrees and Michael chuckles lowly. "But not this. This is beyond you."

"Okay, well then I'm sorry about before. It's not that I don't think you'd be a helpful addition to the team or anything. Believe me, you've proved you're more than capable," He explains and she smiles at this notion. "I just want you to be safe."

"I understand," She tells him. "I don't agree with you, but I understand."

"Okay. Well I'm not going to force you to feel the same way," Michael says. "But everything's going to be okay."

"I wish I shared your optimism."

"You are still a huge pessimist," Michael teases. "All these years and you still haven't learned to have a little faith."

"What can I say? A tiger doesn't change its stripes," Sara responds, smiling despite the situation.

He inches closer to her and pulls her into his body, curling his arms around her torso as she snuggles into him. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you," She insists. "I'm going to be worried sick about you."

"Don't think about it too much."

"How can I not?" Sara murmurs. "You know you're sending me off because you can't lose me. Did you ever think about what I'd do if I lost you?"

His arms tighten around her. "You're stronger than I am."

"Am I?" She asks disbelievingly. "What about the kids? There are kids involved, this time."

"There was a kid involved last time," Michael points out. "Speaking of which, is there anything you need to tell me? You know, before long-lost family members use it as emotional blackmail?"

Sara laughs. "I'm not pregnant. And I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you, but I couldn't find the right time. Plus, I really thought Lincoln should be the one to break that to you."

He chuckles. "Yeah, you know he really was the best person for the job."

She's grinning because even in this time of heightening stress, he still manages to make her feel so blissfully happy. "I love you."

She's said it an innumerable amount of times but still, each time she feels as though she's baring her soul. She's never loved anyone as wholly and completely as she loves Michael and it terrifies and excites her, still, to this day. Sara had been worried at the conclusion of the Scylla fiasco that she and Michael would grow tired of one another; she'd thought that what was fueling their passionate love was the thrill of the running, the chase, the secrecy. She'd been afraid that once they settled down, things would fizzle, because they hadn't really known each other as well as they thought they did. But this never happened; if anything, their love had grown even further. Having gone through what they did, they came to appreciate one another even more, their love growing exponentially. Sara hopes Michael understands what he does to her; she hopes he understands just how much she loves him and how each time she professes this love, her insides grow warm and her heart races and her entire body fills with a rush of adrenaline.

He grins as if he's read her mind- and it wouldn't shock her if he did, honestly, since he does so often- and replies, "I love you, too, Sara."

Suddenly, she's hit with an intense wave of longing, even though he hasn't left her yet. It's the same feeling she always gets anytime he isn't by her side; as though a part of her is missing and, by extension, this is true. She scrambles upwards, a little clumsily, and kisses him fiercely, as if they'd been separated for years, as if they'd never see each other again. He responds just as eagerly; she isn't aware she's crying until she feels the pads of his thumbs brush against the delicate skin beneath her eyes. He pulls away from her long enough to tell her that it'll be okay, that he'll make things right, before reattaching himself to her, kissing her deeply, strongly and lovingly. The next few actions occur in a lust-filled blur- undressing and kissing and intercourse- and Sara tries very hard not to think about how this may or may not be the last time they have this chance.

When it's over, they remain in each other's arms. Neither can sleep out of worry and fear, but they're quiet for the other's sake, anyway. The moon gleaming in through the slanted blinds catches Sara's wedding ring, and she tries, once again, not to think of how much is at stake.


	4. Four

**Thank you, lovelies, for all your feedback! Not much for an author's note, so thank your for reading and reviewing and here's the next chapter!**

* * *

Four

A peal of raucous laughter awakens Sara with a start. She hadn't even been aware she'd fallen asleep; the last thing she remembers is lying in bed, basking in the post-coital adrenaline rush, and watching the moonlight glitter and dance across her the golden band of her wedding ring. At some point, however, she must have fallen into the comfortable confines of sleep; she glances at the digital clock on her bedside table and notes it's almost seven o'clock. She has to get moving. Sara can hear the low sounds of male conversation and assumes, correctly, that her living room is full of the remaining members of the Scylla team, reunited after years apart.

She slides out of bed and makes herself a bit more presentable; this requires slipping out of Michael's boxers and into an actual pair of underwear and pants. Adjusting her tank top and trying to calm her tangled hair, Sara exits their bedroom and is immediately flooded with memories she only half-wants. The room smells of coffee and of conspiracy; Alex is once again sitting in the very armchair he'd taken up the night before, bent over the coffee table and rambling about something Sara's not tuned in enough to make out. Michael and Lincoln are occupying the couch, going over the notes Michael had taken the night before and adding more where necessary. In the corner of the room, stands Paul Kellerman, talking with someone over Bluetooth. It's been years and yet, Sara still visibly tenses when laying her eyes upon him.

It's Lincoln who first notices her, glancing up and asking, "Oh sorry, Doc. Are we too loud?"

"No, no I should've been up already, anyway," Sara says, her eyes still not leaving Kellerman. "I've got to get the kids going."

"You looked peaceful. I didn't want to wake you," Michael tells her, his sapphire eyes offering an apology for the unwanted company. He nods toward the kitchen counter. "There's coffee in the pot, if you want some."

"Thank you," She smiles gratefully and when Kellerman ends his conversation, he looks up to greet her.

"Sara! Long time, no see," He grins a million-dollar smile that she doesn't return. "How have you been?"

She doesn't answer at first and he rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes I tried to kill you in New Mexico. But I also saved all of your asses, so I think we can put that behind us, right?"

Sara shakes her head, pouring herself a steaming mug of coffee. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to you."

"You don't have to say anything," Michael insists and then turns back to Kellerman. "Your business is with us. Leave her alone."

"Ooh, touchy." Kellerman frowns. "You know, I would've forgiven you, if it had been the other way around."

"I guess that's the difference between you and me, Paul," Sara tells him and then disappears down the hall, in search of the children.

"Can we focus on the task at hand, please?" Michael asks, directing his attention toward Kellerman, who holds up his hands in defense.

"Alright, alright," He says. "We're all set for our flight to Miami. The man we are looking for is Owen Frank. He's been a Company operative since 2003. He runs a small but successful business near the port and will most likely have some kind of connection to Edison."

"Most likely?" Lincoln asks. "I thought you said you knew for sure."

"Nothing's for sure, not now anyway," Alex answers. "Sucre's meeting us there. His flight gets in at noon and ours gets in at one-fifteen. I told him to keep a look-out for this guy."

Alex places a shiny photograph of the man they're after on the table before them. Lincoln, incredulous, says, "You think this guy's just going to be wandering around the airport? That would be convenient."

"I doubt it, but I wouldn't put it past him," Kellerman offers. "By now, I'm sure Edison's orchestrated a plan. This plan will most likely involve killing every last one of us and the only way to do that is to find us. Therefore, he's going to have to travel. The bottom line is we're not untraceable. You guys have the government at your advantage, but we're not impossible to find."

"Which means we need to find them before they can find us," Michael states. "The only problem is, we don't know who they are."

"Great," Lincoln sighs. "This is just as cryptic as last time."

In the background, Noah and Zoe come into the kitchen, requesting breakfast from Sara, who's now fully clothed in her clinical attire. Noah stops to survey the room and take in all the new people in his surroundings whereas Zoe asks dozens of questions of each of them, pauses to give her father and beloved uncle a hug and a kiss, and finally sits for breakfast. Sara makes them scrambled eggs and toast, simultaneously packing lunches and backpacks and half-eating her own meal while the kids bicker half-heartedly over who would get to choose the radio station that morning. They run off to brush their teeth and finish getting ready moments later in a torrent of commotion.

Kellerman remarks, "I assume the Scofield spawn aren't coming with us?"

"They're going to a safe house," Michael explains briefly and then asks, "So if we find this guy and he somehow does have a connection to Edison, what's our next move? We can't just pull up a map of everyone involved. It's not like they have tracking devices."

"No, they don't, but if we find one, we'll find them all," Kellerman states confidently. "I'm one hundred percent sure they'll talk if we have Edison in custody."

"What makes you think that?" Lincoln asks in disbelief. "There's no way they'll talk. What if we miss one of them and _he_ wants to rebuild? Don't tell me we'll be back in this situation in a year or two."

"I think they'll do whatever they have to- even die- to protect this organization," Alex agrees. "And if they do, then we're back where we started."

"What we need to do is get in their heads," Michael suggests. "We need to know what they're going to do before they do it."

"You guys used to be in The Company," Lincoln says, glancing between both Alex and Kellerman. "Any idea how they operate?"

"At one point, I was under the influence of The Company, yes, but I didn't _work_ for them," Alex clarifies. "And by that logic, so did you, Linc. Or did you forget that you once told the General you'd get him Scylla?"

Lincoln frowns. "Shut the fuck up, Mahone."

"I was long since terminated by the time this whole Scylla thing blew up," Kellerman says a moment later. "So I don't have any idea what they'll do to protect it. But if I had to guess, I'm sure they'd gladly die to make sure their fellow operatives were kept safely hidden."

"Gretchen," Michael then says and all eyes are immediately on him.

"What?" Alex asks in surprise.

Kellerman looks confused. "Who?"

Lincoln is already irritated. "Why?"

"Gretchen might be able to help," Michael explains. "If we're going to Miami anyway, we might as well pay her a visit."

"What could she possibly tell us?" Lincoln implores. "She's not even part of The Company anymore. She's useless."

"She may not be a Company agent anymore, but she used to be," Michael says. "If we're going to stop The Company from rebuilding, we might want to consult someone who was close to the General when it was first built."

They all pore over this decision for a moment as Kellerman grins. "See Scofield, we need your brain. I know this is the last thing you want to do right now, but do you see how useful you are?"

"The sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can move on with our lives," Michael deadpans and Lincoln nods his agreement.

"Once we walk away from this, we're done for good," He demands. "Don't even think about calling us again."

"Fine, fine," Kellerman agrees. "You can just send me Christmas cards from Tahiti or wherever you're planning on escaping to."

It's nearing eight o'clock, now, and when Sara and the kids appear again, a moment later, they're readying themselves to leave. Michael takes a moment to scribble an address on an abandoned piece of paper and then expertly folds it into an origami crane. Zoe is by the door, struggling to pull her snow boots on, and Noah is busy twisting his scarf around his neck and zipping himself into his coat. Sara's throwing things mindlessly into her purse and asking Noah if he's remembered everything for school that day. She glances around aimlessly for her keys and Michael, spotting them by the TV- which is a weird place to keep keys, if you ask him- snatches them and brings them over to her. She smiles gratefully and thanks him.

He hands her the crane as well and she chuckles softly. "For old time's sake."

Michael then kneels beside the chair Noah's perched in and says, "Hey buddy. You and Mom and Zoe are going to be taking a little trip later today, okay? When you get out of school, you're going to head somewhere for just a little while. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Why can't you come with us?" Noah asks, distrustfully glancing at the two foreign men in the room. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go somewhere with your Uncle Linc and some friends," Michael says, bending the truth a bit. "Don't worry about me. I'll be safe."

"Are you going to Disney World?" Noah asks excitedly. "Can we come too?"

Michael laughs. "I'm not going to Disney World, bud. Everything's going to be fine, though. Just keep your Mom and sister safe for me, okay?"

"Okay," Noah shrugs. "Bye Dad."

He scoops his son in for a hug and tells him, "Bye Noah. Be good and be safe. I love you."

"Love you too," Noah reiterates and hops off the chair to slip his boots on.

Michael then turns to his daughter, who asks, "Daddy where are you going?"

"I have to go to Florida for a little while with your Uncle Linc and some friends," He repeats. "And you and Noah and Mommy are headed somewhere else. You're going to go on a little vacation, okay?"

Zoe gasps. "Florida? Are you going to Disney World without me?"

"I would never do that," Michael grins. "I just have some work to do. I'll be with you guys as soon as I can."

"Why can't we stay here?" Zoe asks and Michael sighs.

"You just can't, babe. It'll only be for a little while. I promise."

"Why can't you come with us?" She asks, then, her voice small.

"I have somewhere I have to be, first," Michael tells her. "But you'll be okay. You'll be with Mommy and Noah. Sofia and LJ, too. Be a good girl, okay? Be safe. I love you, Zo-Zo."

"I love you too, Daddy," She says and allows her father to hug and kiss her goodbye. She then turns to glance at Alex and Kellerman, asking the latter, "Are you a secret agent too? A ninja?"

"Not a ninja, no," Kellerman smirks.

"Can you keep my Daddy safe?" Zoe pleads. "He might not be a fast runner like you. He's missing two toes, you know."

Sara covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, Michael smirks and Lincoln chuckles from beside her. Kellerman grins and says, "I didn't know that. Yes, I'll keep your Daddy safe, super safe. I promise you."

Zoe smiles and nods satisfactorily, heading over to join her brother in their farewell to Lincoln. Michael then turns to Sara and says, "When you guys are ready to go, open the crane."

"We'll probably get a move on the minute I pick them up from school," Sara says. "Where exactly are we going?"

"You'll see," Michael smiles. "Just remember to pick up LJ and Sofia before you go."

"As if I'd forget them."

"Just making sure."

She steps forward and wraps her arms around him in an embrace, his following soon thereafter. He kisses her hair and she tightens her grasp on him, whispering, "Be safe, okay? Come back to me in one piece."

"Well as Zoe just pointed out, I'm already missing a few pieces," Michael replies and feels Sara's body shake with laughter. "But I'll come back with everything I have now."

She pulls back slightly to kiss him quickly, given they have company. But he decides this isn't enough and brings her back in for another, much deeper kiss. Both Noah and Zoe pull disgusted faces and make puking sounds. Zoe states, "Kissing is _so_ yucky!"

"Yeah," Noah is quick to agree. "And Mommy and Daddy kiss _a lot_."

The other three adults in the room laugh- endless entertainment from the Scofield children, as usual- and Michael and Sara roll their eyes, the smiles on their faces caused by their children's naïveté. Michael runs a hand through her hair, eyes scanning her face as if trying to memorize every last detail, before saying, "I love you. Make sure you're being safe as well."

"I will and I love you, too," She promises. "I'll guard these kids with my life, don't you worry."

She's only half-joking; Michael sense this and says, "I know you will."

"Oh, here, I almost forgot," Kellerman interrupts, handing each of them clunky cell phones that haven't been used in ages. "They might be outdated, but they're government-issued, so they can't be tracked. Just to cover our bases, okay?"

"Great," Michael looks relieved. "So we'll always be in touch."

"Okay," Sara nods. "Good luck."

They depart in a flurry of activity, which gives the group a little more time to plan. They figure if all else fails with Owen Frank, they'll always have Gretchen to fall back upon. It takes Michael less than five minutes to throw a duffle bag of items together for the trip and Lincoln and Alex talk logistics one last time. Kellerman puts in a call to Sucre, who is just boarding his own flight, and then they're leaving the apartment, heading to the airport and going through security. Since anyone could potentially be a suspect, they're wary of everyone they come in contact with. They wonder if the TSA agent that spent too long looking at Alex's passport is a Company agent or the guy collecting Smarte Cartes who glances at them twice as they pass, could he be one too? They board the plane and try not to overthink things, but it's difficult when they suddenly feel, once again, that they're in the limelight.

Kellerman sinks deeper into his plane seat, singing under his breath, "_We're going to Miami. Welcome to Miami_."

The other three stare at him and he says, "Will Smith? _Miami_? Come on, you don't know this song?"

They either frown or shake their heads or roll their eyes. Kellerman smirks. "Damn. Tough crowd."

* * *

They land in Miami three hours later, the weather improving drastically from a chilly and snowy thirty-two degrees to a sunny, warm eighty degrees. The airport is packed with people and they get separated every so often, but they manage to make it to baggage claim in record time to meet up with Sucre. He looks exactly the same as he had when they'd last seen him; a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and sunglasses protectively shading him from the crowd, Sucre is glancing over the hordes of people and when he spots Michael and the rest of the group in tow, his face splits into a grin. He drops his things to welcome his best friend in a tight hug, clapping him on the back as he does so.

"Hey, what's up, papi?" Sucre greets him warmly. "Long time, huh?"

"It's been a while," Michael grins. "How are you?"

"Great," Sucre replies. "I know you didn't want to head back to Chicago, but isn't all that bad, man. Our families are both there; we didn't want to leave them."

He pauses to greet Lincoln with another hug and Alex with a firm handshake. He merely nods in Kellerman's direction. Michael implores, "How are Maricruz and the kids?"

Sucre's beaming as he produces his wallet, showing off a miniature picture of his family of five. "Just great, man. Lila's already in second grade, papi! She's getting big. Nicolas, my little man, just started kindergarten. And Emilia starts pre-school in the fall. It's crazy, papi! But I'm sure you know that."

"I do," Michael says, examining the happy family. "That's insane. Nico and Emi were just babies last time I saw them."

"You guys should visit more often," Sucre says. "Lila's always asking about Noah and Zoe. How are they, by the way? How's Sara? She's not here, I see."

"They're all doing great," Michael answers. "Heading away for a while until this blows over with LJ and Sofia."

"Yeah, Linc, how is LJ?" Sucre asks. "He finish school yet?"

"Just did," Lincoln nods proudly. "He graduated early in December."

"Aw, no shit! You got a smart one."

"Yeah, he didn't get it from me."

"So how's-"

"You guys can all hold hands around the campfire some other time," Kellerman halts their conversation. "Right now, we've got criminals to catch."

They follow him through the growing crowd of people and around the multiple carousels of rotating luggage. Michael is hyper-aware of anyone second glancing at them, cataloguing them, or taking notes of who and where they are. Kellerman slips a pair of sunglasses down over his eyes and adjusts his suit jacket, walking casually but with a purpose out of the automatic doors. There's heat and car exhaust and humidity, but through all the people shouting in Spanish and the cabs honking and children crying, a man bumps into Alex and apologizes profusely.

"No problem," Alex nods and watches the man pass him by. There's something off-putting about him; Alex reaches into his pocket to find the photo of Owen Frank and when he realizes the man in the photo matches the man who's just passed him, Owen's nowhere to be seen. Alex shoves the photo back into his pocket, shouting, "That was him! Owen's here!"

No one hesitates in sprinting after him. Kellerman barks out a few orders, directing Michael, Lincoln and Sucre to take opposite sides of the alley to corner him. He then darts after Alex, pushing past people and shouting back apologies without hesitation. Owen runs freely past the long row of taxis awaiting passengers, around the east side of the airport and towards the back alley. They lose him, for a moment, and the roaring engine of a plane taking off drowns anything Kellerman shouts at Alex out. They spot him once more at the south side and he's reaching into his coat pocket for what they soon realize is a gun.

"_Get down!_" Kellerman shouts and Alex dives behind a dumpster as shots speed through the space he'd just occupied.

It takes Kellerman less than a second to cock his own gun, Alex watching in disbelief. But before he can fire it, Lincoln appears from the corner of the alley and tackles Owen Frank to the ground. His head smashes against the gravelly pavement, but he isn't disoriented enough to forget he's armed. In a split second he's aiming the pistol at Lincoln's chest and a shot rings through the alley. Michael and Sucre, from the other side of the alley, shout in terror, but Lincoln remains unharmed; it's Kellerman's gun that's smoking, now. Owen's arm falls limply against the pavement, gun clattering to the ground. Lincoln inhales and exhales deeply, once again feeling what it's like to be _this close_ to death.

"Why would you kill him?" Lincoln grumbles. "He could've had information we needed! He was your only lead!"

"Um, how about a thank you for saving your life?" Kellerman suggests. "Are we really going to pretend you weren't just two seconds away from a slow and painful death?"

"How did you get that past security?" Alex asks, out of breath and gesturing towards the gun.

Kellerman gives him a look, as if there's nothing he can't get away with. "_Please_. I'm not an amateur, Alex."

Lincoln and Michael kneel around the body, Sucre standing over it reciting a prayer in Spanish, and pick through his pockets. There's nothing but a few extra bullets; no identification, no cell phone, no ties to The Company. When they back away, Kellerman resumes his duty of cleaning the area, the gun and the body of any prints or evidence they may have left behind. He plucks something out of the dead man's hand and pries it open. It's a yellow piece of notepad paper, scrawled handwriting filling the lines, and Paul announces, "Maybe he was going to visit one of his buddies. If we go to this address, maybe we'll find someone who knows where Edison is."

He hands the paper over to Michael and the other three crowd around him. The color drains from his face and Sucre immediately asks, "What's up, papi?"

"This is my address," Michael states in horror. "He was coming after _me_."

He's immediately dropping his bag on the ground, rummaging through the items inside in search of the phone. "Just because he didn't get there doesn't mean someone else won't. I have to call Sara."

The line rings once, twice and then three times before Sara finally answers. "_Hello? Michael?_"

"Sara," He breathes her name in a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Are you alright?"

"_I'm fine. I'm on my lunch break. What's wrong?_"

"So you're not home?"

"_No, no. What's going on?_"

"Listen, as soon as you can, you need to get the kids and get out of there," Michael says adamantly. "We're in Miami and we just flagged down a Company operative."

"_Oh my God…_"

"He had our address in his pocket," Michael explains. "I don't know if he was planning on bringing backup, but I doubt he was going alone. So get the kids, get Sofia and LJ and go to the address that I gave you this morning, do you remember?"

"_Yeah, the crane. I have it right here._"

"Okay, good. You need to go, do you understand me?" Michael stresses. "You need to go _now!_"


	5. Five

**Hello friends! Your responses are giving me life. You honestly have no idea how happy they make me when I read them; they brighten my day! So thank you so incredibly much! I have this down to a system now and I should be able to update every other day... But we'll see if work holds me back or not haha. So thank you once more and I hope you enjoy this one!**

* * *

Five

"Sara, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Sara's shaking as she tucks the cell phone back into her purse. It's happening all over again; she's going back on the run, as if she were a fugitive once more, only this time she's putting her children's lives at stake. Someone knew where they were living; someone had planned an attack. She's sure she _has_ seen a ghost; the apparition of past horrors and memories she'd care not to relive. There's a call for another doctor over the loudspeaker before Sara realizes she's been silent for too long; her coworker Denise is staring at her as if she's afraid Sara will implode.

"Actually, I'm… I'm not feeling too great," Sara answers, already getting her things and walking out the door. "Tell Steve to cover my shift, okay? I've got to get home."

"Well I believe it. You're pale as a sheet," Denise responds, calling after her retreating form. "Feel better!"

Sara drives mindlessly through the city, runs a red light and curses like a trucker. She glances in the rearview mirror and realizes she hasn't managed to grab the bags they'd packed earlier that morning and, cursing her stupidity, she realizes they'll have to make due without them. She swings by Zoe's preschool, first, picking her up in the middle of snack time, much to the four-year-old's chagrin. Noah's first-grade class is at recess when she heads over to Brookside Elementary and she has to wait a full twenty minutes before they'll release him to her. Both kids are asking why they left school early and where they're headed, but Sara's not sure she has an answer for them, at least not yet.

She's glad she's just refilled the gas tank the day before, because Michael's crane spoke of an address in Raleigh, North Carolina and that's a long way's away from Syracuse, New York. She pulls into an adjacent apartment complex to their own and rings for LJ and Sofia, who are both, miraculously, at home. She tells them the logistics only- they have to leave _right now_- and ushers them into her car before tearing off down I-87 and getting on the thruway. They're driving a full half hour before any of them speaks. Sofia first breaks the silence, asking, "Sara? What happened?"

"I'm not even really sure," She answers truthfully. "What I do know is that someone in Miami had our address and Michael called and said we needed to get out."

"Do you think someone was coming after you?" Sofia asks worriedly and Sara shrugs.

"I wouldn't put it past The Company, to be honest," Sara replies. "I didn't even have a chance to grab our stuff. We don't have clothes, toothbrushes… anything."

"We'll figure something out," Sofia says confidently. "We're going to stop halfway, right? I don't think you want to drive ten hours in one day."

"Yeah. Yeah, we can stop."

"Okay. So we'll check into a hotel for the night and exploit the gift shop," Sofia concludes. "They'll have toiletries and things."

"Good idea."

"My Dad's okay, though, right?" LJ asks from the backseat. "Uncle Mike didn't say anything otherwise, did he?"

"Um, he didn't actually say, but I think everything's okay," Sara says, before offering him the cell phone. "You can call him, if you want."

LJ nods and takes the phone from her grasp. "Maybe later. I bet he's fine."

They drive on and on, but a few hours in and the kids are already claiming boredom. LJ does what he can to entertain them with countless road games, songs and stories, but they've just exited New York and are losing interest in the road trip. Noah pulls out his spelling workbook and completes five entire pages, Zoe extracts a coloring book but complains that the car is not the best place for creating a masterpiece and LJ is, unfortunately, a young adult literally stuck in the middle of the two. They're running out of things to do, so Sofia decides to teach them some Spanish to keep their minds off of the endlessly boring car ride.

"_Si te sientes muy feliz, aplaude asi! Si te sientes muy feliz, aplaude asi!_" Sofia recites and Noah and Zoe clap where necessary. "_Si te sientes muy feliz, tu rostro no podra mentir! Si te sientes muy feliz, aplaude asi!_"

With the final two claps, Zoe complains, "I'm hungry, Mommy!"

"Me too," Noah reiterates. "Can we go home for dinner now?"

"Guys, I told you, we're not going home, remember?" Sara explains. "We're going on a little trip. We'll eat as soon as we can, okay?"

"I don't like this trip," Noah decides, resting his chin in his palm and watching the miles fly by outside his window.

"Me either," Zoe agrees. "Where's Daddy?"

"Daddy's meeting us there, eventually," Sara sighs, sending a sideways glance at Sofia, who nods encouragingly.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" LJ asks and then clarifies, "And I'm not talking about the drive."

"Alex says maybe a week or two," Sara answers. "But honestly? I don't know. I mean, they don't even know who they're going after."

LJ sighs. "Terrific."

They drive about an hour and a half longer before Zoe bursts into tears and demands food, Noah irritably agreeing with her. They stop for a quick dinner at a Red Robin, which makes both kids happy since they get a balloon after finishing their meal. Deciding to stop for the night in Hagerstown, a town on the border of Pennsylvania and Maryland, Sofia points out a seedy looking motel and as much as Sara would love to shelter her kids from having to stay at a place like this, they really don't have that much money with them. They spring for a suite- which has two queen beds and a pull out couch, so not much of a suite- and it only costs them forty-five dollars. Alarming. Sara buys toothbrushes and toothpaste all for three dollars- also alarming- and calls it a night.

LJ offers the bed to Sofia and gallantly takes the pull out couch. Somehow, he's asleep within minutes; it astounds them all. Sofia takes one queen bed and Sara and the kids take the other. She's still wearing her clothes from that day; she's dressed Noah in an extra shirt of LJ's and Zoe in a tank top of Sofia's and as ridiculous as it is, they both look pretty adorable swimming in clothes too big for them. Now, as LJ lightly snores a few feet away and Sofia tosses and turns in half-sleep, Sara reaches for the cell phone in her bag, careful not to disturb Noah, who's asleep against her right shoulder or Zoe, who's head is resting on Sara's stomach. A quick chat with Michael is something she really needs right now, because nothing around her is familiar and even though she's managed to somehow make the kids feel safe, _she_ is the one in need of reassurance, now.

It calms her nerves, that's for sure, and it must be what eventually lulls her to sleep, because the next thing she knows, there's sunlight flowing in from behind the curtains and LJ's bringing everyone bagels and juice from the bakery across the street. The kids both ask if this is the day they're going to see Daddy and Sara doesn't have the heart to tell them she has no idea when they actually will. They're on the road before nine and hit Raleigh a little after two- one bathroom break and a stop for lunch held them back- driving immediately to the address Michael had laid out the day before. It doesn't make much sense; the address Michael's given is an academic library for North Carolina State University. They park the car and begin to walk towards the building, unsure of how this place is supposed to house and protect them.

"Is Uncle Mike trying to tell us something?" LJ asks. "I literally just graduated. I definitely don't need any more school."

Sofia glances at Sara and asks, "Any ideas? He's your husband."

"I know," Sara replies, holding onto both Noah and Zoe's hands as they walk deeper into the campus. "But sometimes he has codes even I can't crack."

All around them, campus activity rushes by them in a flurry; a group of sorority girls cheer and laugh and screech in a giant cluster of leggings and Uggs and North Face jackets. A student in a brightly colored t-shirt leads a tour group of prospective students and their parents into the library. Two students walk hand in hand towards an academic building, but both are gabbing away on their cell phones and not paying a bit of attention to the other. Sara once again glances at the address Michael's given her and wills herself to understand what he means. _Come on, Michael_, she thinks. _Throw me a bone. Why would you possibly want us at a college campus?_

She gets her answer. A few minutes later, a UPS trucks pulls into the cargo loading spot in the back of the library. The driver exits the vehicle, climbs into the back of the truck and unloads three heavy-looking boxes of what they're all assuming are new arrivals of books. He delivers the books to the woman at the back door of the library and then seems to spot Sara and the others. He walks forward casually, but still there's a growing feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach. She grips Noah and Zoe's hands even tighter, but ultimately relaxes the moment this person's come into view.

It's Benjamin Miles Franklin; he smiles into the sunlight and asks, "What's up, Doc? How're you doing?"

She's still pretty speechless, but she manages to release Zoe's hand long enough to shake his. "How…? What…?"

"I know. It's probably a bit of a shock," Benjamin grins, acknowledging the children beside her. "Hey kids, how are you? I'm Ben; I'm a friend of your Dad's. You ready to come back to my house? We just got a trampoline!"

Noah looks a bit skeptical and Zoe moves to hide behind her mother. Sara says, "Sorry, they inherited their paranoia from us."

"It's okay. They'll come around," He shrugs. "So as you could probably guess, I'm going to be your armed protection for a while. Why don't you follow me back to my place? Kacee and Dede are away for a few days visiting family up north, so it'll be just us."

They begin to trek back to the car with Sara asking, "How did you get involved? I mean, I'm sure this is hardly what you'd like to be doing right now."

"Nah, it's not so bad. Michael busted me out of prison; I owe him my life," Benjamin explains. "I'll do anything I can to try and repay him."

Sara nods her understanding and assumes her position behind the wheel again, following that big, brown UPS truck down the street and towards a residential area. On the way, she explains Benjamin's role in the past a bit further to LJ and Sofia, who are still fairly confused and apprehensive of trusting him. But Ben's a good guy; Sara's always known that. Like Lincoln, he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. They pull into his driveway a few moments later, with Benjamin showing the kids into the backyard and Noah and Zoe immediately making a beeline for the trampoline, dragging their cousin with them. Sara and Sofia hang back a bit, the former still incredibly inquisitive.

"Why wouldn't Michael just give us your address?" Sara inquires. "Why go through the trouble of sending us to a college campus?"

"It's Michael," Sofia reasons. "Why does he do any of the things he does?"

Benjamin chuckles. "He probably just wanted to cover his bases. You know, just in case that slip of paper ended up in the wrong hands."

"I guess so," Sara's still uneasy and Benjamin can sense this.

"Hey, don't worry. Like I said before, I'm armed," Benjamin explains and Sara nods trustingly. He shoots her a smile. "You're safe here. I promise."

* * *

"Absolutely not."

"Linc, come on, you gotta take one for the team."

"I'm always taking one for the team. Why don't you go in there, huh? You go talk to the bitch."

Michael rolls his eyes as Alex and Lincoln continue their argument. They're parked outside of Miami-Dade Penitentiary, now, and have been for the past half hour. Now that Michael and Lincoln are assured their respective families are safe, they're able to focus on task at hand. The current task happens to be interrogating Gretchen and though they're sure of what they're going to ask her, they can't seem to agree on the person to do the asking. Alex had suggest Lincoln a few moments earlier, something the man in question vehemently disagreed with. However, the more Alex tries to sell the idea, the better it's starting to sound to Michael and the rest of the group.

"I would go talk to her, but she doesn't like me," Alex explicates. "She doesn't like Sucre, either. She doesn't know Kellerman and Michael hates her, so it has to be you, Linc."

"Linc, she has a crush on you," Sucre points out. "She might be glad to see you, for all I know. She'll be willing to tell you more, I think."

Lincoln shoots his brother a disbelieving glance. "You gotta talk them out of this."

But Michael shakes his head, saying, "No, they're right. It has to be you, Linc."

Lincoln groans and exits the car, grumbling, "You will _all_ pay for this, swear to God."

He's through security in a matter of minutes, the COs laughing and poking fun at him for returning to a prison ("Couldn't stay away for too long, eh Burrows?"). He ignores them and requests a visit with Gretchen Morgan, which they treat suspiciously, since she doesn't usually get visitors, but they allow him a private visitation room, anyway. He doesn't sit in the hard plastic chair; instead he paces across the concrete floor, hands in his pockets, trying to come up with the right wording for what he has to ask. A moment passes and then the door swings open again, with Gretchen Morgan being led in, handcuffed and surprisingly happy to see him. As the CO lowers her into the opposing chair, she glances at Lincoln with a sultry, almost expectant look. It gives him the chills, and not in a good way.

"I was wondering when you would come to see me," Gretchen grins. "It only took you long enough."

"I'm not here to catch up," Lincoln tells her, leaning against the opposite wall. "We need to talk."

"Yeah?" She asks with a nod of her head, sitting back against her chair. "What if I got nothing to say?"

"Trust me, you will," Lincoln insists. "You know Nathaniel Edison?"

"I know he's a Scylla cardholder," Gretchen says. "Well, he _was_, anyway. _You_ know him?"

"Pulled the old bait and switch with his card a few years back," Lincoln states proudly. "But that's not important right now. Your buddy's trying to re-launch The Company and finish what Krantz didn't."

"Yeah," Gretchen smirks. "So? What's that got to do with me? Edison can do whatever the hell he wants. I'm rotting in prison."

"We're going to stop them," Lincoln demands. "And _you're_ going to help us."

"You getting me out of here?"

"Not exactly. You're going to tell us what you know."

"Oh I am?" She asks sardonically. "And what makes you think that I'd tell you anything?"

"Because you've got a kid out there somewhere," Lincoln counters. "If you're thinking they're not going to use her as leverage, think again."

Gretchen frowns but motions toward the chair in front of her. "Why don't you sit down and stay a while? You and I can maybe work something out."

He does as she's asked, but insists, "There's no 'maybe.' You're going to tell me what you know, or _I'll_ use your kid as leverage."

Gretchen smirks. "Please. You'd never hurt a kid; you've got your own. How is LJ, by the way?"

"Fine, no thanks to you."

They stare at each other in a hardened silence for a few minutes before Gretchen breaks and rolls her eyes. "Why don't you tell me your misguided plan and I'll see if there's anything I know."

"I shouldn't have to tell you anything," Lincoln sighs and Gretchen scoffs.

"Hey, quid pro quo, Lincoln. If I have to talk, so do you."

He frowns. "We're going to stop Edison, simple as that. We need to find out who he's recruited. We need names."

"That's anything but simple," Gretchen replies. "What makes you think I know who's working for him?"

"Because _you're_ part of The Company," Lincoln states in an obvious manner. "Aren't you guys all connected, somehow?"

"I'm not Company, anymore," Gretchen deadpans. "The General doesn't exactly take imprisonment lightly."

"You're saying you don't have a list of names?"

"I'm saying good luck," Gretchen concludes. "The moment General Krantz found out you guys were stealing Scylla, he destroyed any records that would have had operatives' names in them."

"And you can't think of any off the top of your head?"

"I didn't know any of them to begin with," Gretchen answers smoothly. "The only people who knew each and every Company agent were the cardholders. Krantz never trusted me enough to give me one."

"And with good reason," Lincoln stands in frustration. "Thanks for nothing."

He storms angrily toward the door just as Gretchen calls out, "Wait, Lincoln."

He turns in the doorway. "What?"

"I'm a good girl, you know." She smiles suggestively. "I get conjugals. Just in case you want a return visit."

Lincoln stares at her as if she's sprouted an extra limb. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Her laughter fills the room he's just exited and he storms past the CO waiting for the visit to cease. He stomps angrily through security once more and through the parking lot towards their rented SUV. Everyone is eagerly awaiting his arrival, anxious for news and eager to learn the names of agents he was supposed to obtain. However, the look on his face, the angry way he slams the car door behind him and the furiously heavy breathing suggests otherwise. There's an air of tension throughout the car; Michael and Alex share a look, Kellerman checks his phone in irritation and Sucre glances between all the members in the car before asking the simple question.

"What happened, bro?"

"What do you think? I got nothing," Lincoln growls. "The bitch doesn't know _anything_."

"What did she say?" Michael asks and Lincoln sighs.

"She said Krantz destroyed all the evidence of who was involved in The Company," Lincoln dictates. "She has no idea who was or still is involved."

"She doesn't have _any_ names?" Alex asks desperately. "Not even one?"

"Nothing," Lincoln confirms. "She doesn't know anything."

"Well what good is she, then?" Sucre throws up his hands in frustration.

Kellerman, without glancing up from his PDA, says, "I'm so glad we wasted half a day visiting her, then, since she was _oh so_ helpful."

"Shut up, Paul."

"Stay out of it."

"Well does she know anyone that _does_ have any names?" Alex then implores. "Linc, we don't have anything to go on."

"You think I don't know that?" Lincoln asks sarcastically. "I'm telling you- she doesn't know anybody. She told me the only people who had a list of names were the Scylla cardholders. That's all she knows."

"Well that's useless. How are we supposed to figure this out now?" Sucre asks. "All the Scylla cardholders are dead."

"No," The wheels are turning in Michael's head and they all take notice. He's been strangely quiet since this conversation started, but at Sucre's statement, he speaks up. "No. Not _all_ of them."


	6. Six

**Hello again and happy Saturday! In this chapter we're going to locate and confront our last living Scylla cardholder- Lisa Tabak! Dun dun dunnnn! ... That was supposed to be the dramatic piano chords, but it doesn't really translate well through typing lol. Okay, so thank you for your responses! I'm still flattered and surprised each time someone new finds this story, because who knows how many people even check this tag? So thank you so incredibly much and please enjoy chapter six!**

* * *

Six

"Lisa Tabak," Michael announces as Kellerman directs their vehicle back to their hotel. "She's the only Scylla cardholder, besides Edison, who's still breathing."

"How in the _hell_ do you know that?" Sucre asks. "You keeping tabs on her, or something?"

"No," Michael negates. "I just did my research."

"See, Paul, Michael did his homework," Alex sneers. "Maybe it's something_ we_ should've considered."

"Really not wise to mouth off to the person behind the wheel," Kellerman replies. "And the only person in this car with a gun."

"So now what?" Sucre asks. "What does this mean?"

"We find her," Michael states simply and then asks, "How soon can we get to L.A.?"

It takes Lincoln less than a second to snatch the PDA from the dashboard and bring up flight times. "There's an open flight at 8:30 tomorrow morning."

"Nothing sooner?"

"There's one at 6:45 tonight, but it's booked," He frowns. "Let's just hope _they're_ not the ones who booked it. They better not get to her first."

"Considering she's the only other one who has ties to the old Company, I'm guessing she's a huge target right now," Michael notes. "Especially since she isn't taking part in this generous rebuilding."

"How do you know that?" Sucre wonders and Michael explains further.

"After we'd obtained Scylla and The Company started to fall apart, Lisa turned in her card and resigned," He says. "She wanted nothing to do with her father's little experiment. Something tells me she wouldn't be very pleased to know it's being instigated all over again."

"I see this scenario playing out in two ways," Alex offers. "Either we get there and she has all the information we need, which helps us finally bring down The Company. Or, she doesn't have a list of names and Gretchen's just led us off a cliff because she wants to see if we'll survive."

"You forgot the third option," Lincoln comments. "She's dead before we get there because the agents reached her first."

"And then all of this would have been for nothing," Sucre adds. "Then we're back to square one again."

"Well you guys are a bunch of downers," Kellerman announces, pulling into the hotel and parking the vehicle. "What happened to taking a leap of faith?"

"Anything could happen," Michael says truthfully. "But come what may, we are going to find that list of names if it kills us."

Kellerman smirks. "Yeah, _that's_ the spirit!"

They retreat to their hotel suite to plan their next day's activities; Michael takes a detour to call Sara and is slightly unsettled when the voicemail picks up instead of her. He can't take too much time to worry about this, though; an entire room full of people is awaiting his useful planning, his artfully skilled expertise. He returns to the common room, where Kellerman is running Lisa Tabak's name through his complex database system, Lincoln is on the phone with the airline, and Sucre and Alex are recalling from memory everything they had once known about Lisa Tabak. Lincoln glances up as his brother reenters and moves the phone away from his ear a bit in order to speak.

"These guys are trying to charge me extra because the flight's in less than twenty-four hours," He grumbles. "Not going to fly; I'm on hold waiting for their supervisor."

"Way to stick to your guns, Linc."

"How is everyone?" He then asks in concern. "Sofia? Sara? The kids?"

"Don't know," Michael sighs. "There was no answer when I called."

"What does that mean? You think they're okay?"

"I'm sure they probably just got busy with something," Michael says and Lincoln nods warily.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're probably fine."

"Right," Michael states uneasily and then turns to the group. "Alex, could you walk us through what we know so far?"

"Lisa Tabak is the wife of the Turkish consulate Erol Tabak," Alex recites from the notepad. "They've been married eleven, almost twelve years, have no children and have resided in Los Angeles for ten plus years. She resigned from The Company in 2005, just before we successfully obtained Scylla and turned in the rest of the Company operatives. How she escaped custody is unknown, much like her current whereabouts."

"We checked every record in the book, bro," Sucre adds, pointing to the numerous phonebooks and online records. "She ain't in any of them."

"No, she wouldn't be, would she?" Kellerman asks a moment later. "Not if she doesn't want to be found."

He turns the screen of his database system to face the others; an eight-by-ten of Lisa and a full three paragraphs of data are detailed right in front of them. "This our girl?"

"That's her," Michael affirms. "Does that thing have an address?"

"Please," Kellerman smirks. "She lives at 53451 Toll Gate Road in a place called Idyllwild-Pine Cove, California."

They stare at him in shock and he chuckles, "You can't hide from the government, gentlemen."

"Okay, we have an address," Michael says. "How far is that from L.A.?"

"Two hours, fourteen minutes, according to MapQuest," Sucre answers a moment later. "And how long's the flight from here to L.A.?"

"About six hours, give or take," Alex answers. "A bit of a waste of time, but it beats driving."

"So we'll get there about eleven-thirty," Lincoln figures. "That puts us at Lisa's at around two, at the latest."

"And what are we gonna do when we get there?" Sucre asks. "Something tells me she ain't exactly gonna be excited to see us."

"We ask nicely," Alex replies. "And if she still doesn't want to release the names, then we make her."

"You guys aren't exactly great at making friends, are you?" Kellerman asks sarcastically. "Look, this doesn't have to get messy. I can still threaten her with imprisonment for being a part of this disaster in the first place. And if that won't make her want to give up the names, then what will?"

"That's the best idea you've had all day, Paul," Lincoln compliments and the latter holds a hand over his heart in mock offense.

"I resent that statement."

The rest of the evening passes in a bit of an activity-filled blur, with Kellerman booking and confirming appointments, Alex cleaning and reloading the guns and ammunition, and the others finishing off the last-minute details of their plan. One thing remains the same, however; Michael and Lincoln still can't seem to get ahold of Sara, Sofia and the children. They think at first that maybe they've dialed the wrong number, but following a quick check with Kellerman, they learn that's not the case. But they decide not to panic, for now. They leave a message imploring for their family members to return the phone call and call it a day.

They're up with the sunrise the next morning, throwing last minute items into their bags and checking out of the hotel without a second glance. The flight to Los Angeles, this time, is commercial and ordinary, very much unlike their past voyage, in which they'd found themselves flying in that military jet. Even still, they can't help but feel a bit of déjà vu; Alex tries very hard not to think of Cameron's broken, mangled body, which is all he'd been thinking of, last time. Lincoln and Sucre share a glance, no doubt thinking of their past flight, in which they'd shared anxious and apprehensive conversation, already distrusting Donald Self and doubting the entire operation. And Michael can think only of Sara- more often than not, his thoughts always return to her; how she'd sat beside him in that rumbling giant jet plane, perfectly calm and expertly composed, despite all the horrors she'd endured in Panama. She'd begged him the next day to start over and he'd agreed; to this day, he's still not sure what happened to her down there. He's pieced together a few minor details from offhanded comments she's made, but he's not sure he'll ever know the whole story. He's not sure he wants to.

When they land at LAX, he still can't get ahold of her and even though it's seriously starting to worry him, he can't dwell on it too long. They're piling, soon, into a black range rover and punching Lisa's address into the accompanying GPS, ignoring how every single action reminds them of the last time. They, of course, remember the warehouse and docks; they drive past a shipping yard and stare a little too long a place that resembled their old home, if you could call it that. They remember tricking the housekeeper and stalling the horse race and flirting with danger in Vegas. They remember the fallen; Roland, who nobody had liked or respected, but who had garnered so much information and Brad, who had turned out to be such a useful member of the team and who had sacrificed himself for the good of the group. They try not to, but they're flooded with images, instances and memories, the bad outweighing the good by a mile, and hope, desperately, that this time, things will be different.

Idyllwild-Pine Cove, California is the exact place someone would go if they were looking to escape the rush and crowds of Los Angeles. Tucked away in the San Jacinto Mountains, the place is a haven for rock climbing enthusiasts, nature lovers and people seeking the simplicity of a small town atmosphere. As Kellerman ascends the mountain, following the GPS guidelines strictly, the surroundings turn more and more rural- endlessly tall pine trees, sweet-smelling cedars and some of the largest rocks they've ever seen. It's a gorgeous place to retire to and it all makes sense why Lisa would escape to here, of all places. She's close enough to L.A. that she can always go back, if she likes. But she's far enough away that no one will ever find her.

Unless, of course, they know where to look.

They turn onto Toll Gate Road a moment later. Kellerman states, "53451 should be on the left. Keep your eyes peeled."

"That's it, up ahead," Lincoln points out, gesticulating towards a large brown home at the end of the road.

"Wait, stop the car," Alex suddenly calls out. Kellerman glances up, alarmed, and Alex again insists, "Stop the car _now_."

He does as he's asked, but reacts, "What the hell is your problem, Alex?"

"That," Alex says, motioning towards a black sedan on the corner of the street. "Is _our_ problem."

"You think it's a Company car?" Sucre wonders and Alex doesn't hesitate to agree.

"That car _screams_ Company," Alex replies. "They got here first."

Just as Lincoln is about to respond, most likely with a message of self-righteousness, the entire car falls silent as they watch two men exit the vehicle. It's almost entirely too convenient, but once they notice the men extract two pistols from the trunk of the car and a couple clipboards to act under the guise of run-of-the-mill solicitors, they know exactly who they're dealing with. Soundlessly, the five men park and exit their own vehicle. Kellerman hands each of them a weapon and it's over in a matter of seconds. While Michael and Lincoln hold the two at reflexive gunpoint, asking who they are and what they know about The Company's rebuilding, Kellerman decides enough is enough and easily puts both of the men down.

Michael and Lincoln stand there in suspended shock. Alex shakes his head and Sucre starts rambling in angry Spanish. Kellerman shrugs, "The prisons are overcrowded enough as it is. And they weren't talking, anyway."

"You didn't give them much of a chance!" Lincoln shouts. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"If we're going to go through with this deal, we need to do so discreetly," Michael adds. "That does not involve leaving a trail of bodies in our wake, Paul."

"You need to worry more about getting information from this Scylla woman and less about what I'm doing, okay?" Kellerman justifies. "I did what I had to do."

He begins to clean up after himself and Sucre states, "I don't think you should come in with us."

"Oh that's just great," Kellerman sarcastically quips. "I do everything for you guys and suddenly I'm left out of the fun interrogation?"

"You're not coming," Michael finalizes and he, Lincoln and Sucre start towards Lisa's front door.

"I'll stay behind, too," Alex offers. "I'll make sure we don't run into any trouble."

"Okay," Michael nods. "Keep an eye on him, too."

"Will do."

"I don't need to be babysat, Scofield," Kellerman calls after his retreating form. "I don't know what your problem is! I just saved you all _again_!"

Ignoring his calling remarks, the three men climb the steps towards Lisa's home and push the glowing orange doorbell, awaiting a response. There's no answer after a few moments, so they push it again and follow this with a few heavy knocks on the giant oak door. The property is neatly kept and beautifully landscaped, but there aren't any cars in the driveway or any other signifier to suggest that anyone lives here. Sucre peers through the closest window and reports there aren't any lights on in the home, but there is a pair of black sandals resting by the door. They're just about to knock again when they hear a voice from coming from within the house.

"Please, I don't want any solicitors."

"We aren't soliciting," Michael responds impatiently. "And judging by the nine millimeters on those guys staked out in front of your home, neither were they."

There's a small silence broken only by the sound of locks twisting out of place. A moment later, the door opens slowly and cautiously and the men come face to face with Lisa Tabak. Her pale blue eyes meet theirs and she's speechless for a moment before gaining the confidence to say, definitively, "Michael Scofield."

"Hello Lisa," He nods in greeting. "You remember my brother, Lincoln Burrows and my colleague, Fernando Sucre."

"Of course." Her lips purse in recognition.

"We need a moment of your time," Michael says. "And after everything you've done, you owe us that."

"Look, I don't want any part of this." Lisa states adamantly and Lincoln chuckles.

"See, that's the funny thing about this whole situation," He smirks. "Neither do we. But sometimes you have to do things you don't want to. This, Lisa, is one of those times."

She frowns and exhales heavily before stepping out of the way and welcoming them into her home. "The sitting room, all the way at the end of the hallway."

They follow her directions into the room she's designated as she guides the way beside them. It's a sunroom with wide-open views of the breathtaking mountains and endless valleys that surround her property. She offers them tea and coffee and lemonade, all of which they turn down in an effort to get to the point. Lisa poises herself in an armchair in the center of the room, avoiding all of their questioning and judgmental gazes by fixing her eyes on her fidgeting hands. Michael and Lincoln glance from each other to Sucre, who's seated at the opposite side of the room. None of them wants to be the first to ask a favor of an old Company operative.

Thankfully, she breaks the silence. "You said there were men outside my house."

"Two of them," Michael confirms. "They were armed and we had no choice but to take them out."

"I knew it would happen, sooner or later," Lisa sighs. "I can't hide away here forever."

"You knew Edison would find you?" Lincoln asks and Lisa smirks.

"I knew he'd try to recruit me," She replies. "When he started this whole thing, he put out a request for my presence to rebuild The Company. I never returned his messages. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me sooner."

"You're telling me you knew about all this?" Sucre asks incredulously. "You knew and you did _nothing_?"

"What did you want me to do?" She counteracts just as disbelieving. "Singlehandedly taken down The Company? Please. I wouldn't have lasted a day. My father made sure of that."

"You could've called in for help," Lincoln suggests. "You could've done _something_."

"I was afraid I'd be incarcerated," Lisa shrugs. "Look, I'm not proud of it. But I did what I had to do to survive. It's a concept I'm sure you're all familiar with."

"No, _you_ look," Lincoln growls. "This isn't about what you think will or won't get you into prison."

"We have a government agent with us, you know," Sucre adds. "We'll be more than happy to send you to jail, if you don't help us."

"This is about doing what's right," Lincoln finishes. "And what's right is destroying The Company before it can become what it once was."

"And you're here because you think I can help," Lisa deadpans.

"We're here because we _know_ you can help," Michael says. "We need a list of names and Gretchen told us that only cardholders have one. You're the only one left, Lisa."

"A list of names? Of all the operatives? Every last one?" She questions and all three men nod. "It's useless; most of the operatives are either dead or incarcerated now."

"Yes, most of them are," Michael sighs. "But not all of them."

"We are looking at one, aren't we?" Lincoln smiles wryly. "Now how about you hand us the list and we'll be on our merry way."

"You don't understand," Lisa shakes her head. "I can't give you that list. You have no idea what they'll do to me."

"We have a pretty good idea, actually," Michael disagrees. "You fail to remember we know how far The Company will go to protect something."

"Well then you know that I'm obligated to refuse to help you," Lisa states. "I don't want to get involved in either side. I've refused to help Edison rebuild and I'm going to refuse to help you destroy. I'm not getting involved in all of this again. It's why I resigned in the first place."

"You resigned because you knew what your father was doing was wrong," Lincoln points out. "So why wouldn't you help us to stop it from happening a second time?"

"Because I ran away from all of this for a reason!" She shouts. "You think I wanted to uproot my husband and leave the home we'd lived in for more than ten years? You think I wanted to turn my back on my father, despite what he'd done? You think I wanted this life?! I wanted no part in this and I still don't so you all need to get out of my house!"

"You're not thinking clearly," Sucre tells her. "If you give us the list, everything goes back to the way it was. You won't even be involved!"

"Giving you the list makes me involved," Lisa says bitterly. "You'll never take Edison down, anyway, list or not."

"That remains to be seen," Lincoln grumbles in frustration. "But we'll never know if you won't give us the damn thing."

"I honestly want no part in this," Lisa refuses again. "My life has been _normal_!"

At this, Michael glances up. "Normal? Your life's been _normal?!_ You have no idea what we've been through because of you people and you're complaining that your life won't be normal anymore?"

Lisa's silent; she's clearly hit a nerve. Michael takes this opportunity to say, "You want to know what you've put us through? How about we start with Sucre? A life on the run kept him away from his pregnant girlfriend for the entire duration of her pregnancy. Then, when he finally thought he could go back to them, it turned out to be false, because we made him help us against _you_ instead. Sucre, how long did you get to hold your daughter, again?"

"Ten seconds," Sucre frowns. "Maybe fifteen."

"Or maybe Lincoln," Michael continues. "Who threw away his entire life just so I could have a better one, because our parents sold their souls to you people. He was falsely accused of murdering someone, someone who wasn't even dead, and served time on death row in a maximum security prison for _nothing_. When some of your people shot and killed his old girlfriend, he was on the phone with her and heard the whole thing. He risked his life and almost lost it innumerous times, all because he was determined to take you people down."

Lincoln glances away from the scene at the mention of Veronica. This doesn't deter Michael from resuming. "And let's not forget about Sara, who made a hard decision and was crucified for it more times than I can count. It was _your_ man who tied her up and left her to drown in New Mexico. It was _your_ man who left her at the mercy of T-Bag, a known rapist and murderer. It was _your_ man who ordered her to be held captive and tortured like a slave in Panama, something she still has nightmares about _to this day_."

Lisa looks down, once again, at her fidgeting hands. "I didn't know any of that. I'm so sorry that happened to you guys."

"It's in the past, now," Michael says. "We've endured it and we've grown stronger. But you can make sure that it doesn't happen again. _You_ can end this."

"Michael, I _can't_," Her stare is still stony and cold. "I can't help you. I can't."

"Fine," He sighs in frustration and Lincoln and Sucre's eyes snap to his figure in disbelief. "Fine. If you don't want to help me or Sucre or Lincoln or Sara, that's just fine."

He reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet, sliding his fingers into the plastic compartment to grasp the wallet-sized photo of his family. In one fluid motion, he places it directly in Lisa's grasp and watches as her long, bony fingers curl around the edges. It's a great photo of the family, taken at the New York State Fair the year prior. Just as he'd once promised Sara, they had finally gotten their opportunity for a cheesy family photo. A gigantic Ferris wheel is their backdrop and it contrasts greatly with the checkered picnic blanket they're resting upon. Noah's perched in his mother's lap, holding a slice of watermelon and grinning with both front teeth missing. Zoe, her face painted elaborately, is giggling, her flyaway hair tied back into pigtails. Michael, with Zoe in his lap and his free arm around Sara, isn't even looking at the camera; his eyes are on his wife, who's laughing at something he'd said a moment prior, eyes closed in blissful satisfaction.

"If you don't want to help us, that's fine," Michael repeats. "But please, help _them_."

Lisa stares hard at the photo, taking in Michael and Sara's harmonious smiles, Noah's precious disposition, Zoe's childlike innocence. Without taking her eyes off the photo, she says, "I didn't know you had children."

Michael nods. "Our lives were normal, too."

Lisa stares at the photo a moment longer before handing it back to Michael and clearing her throat, saying, "I'll be right back."

Without another word, she disappears out of the room. Michael tucks the photo back into his wallet as Lincoln says, "That was some speech."

"You think it worked?" Sucre wonders.

Michael shrugs. "If it didn't, I'm out of ideas."

Lisa returns, then, with a Halliburton case and a key ring and hands both of these things to Michael. "This contains everything you'll need to know. It's everything my father gave the cardholders and all the information you'll need on who's who in The Company."

"Thank you, Lisa," Michael says, shooting her a smile. "We'll use it wisely."

"It didn't come from me," She says, still just as cold as before, turning away from them. "You can see yourselves out."

"Works for me," Lincoln replies, heading towards the hallway with Sucre on his trail.

As Michael heads for the doorway, Lisa calls out to him once more, "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Your children are beautiful," Lisa comments, a hint of a smile on her face. "I really hope this works."

He grins. "Thank you. So do I."

This, of course, reminds him that he hasn't spoken to his wife and children in a few days. He follows the same corridor out of the house that Lincoln and Sucre had just walked through, but before he joins them in the range rover, he pauses to make that fateful phone call once more. It rings once and all he can think of is Noah's contagious laughter, his many strange quirks and his stunning hazel-green eyes scanning every situation for danger as if he'd been born with inherent paranoia. It rings twice and all he can think of is Zoe's amazing sense of humor, her extremely outgoing nature and her constant desire to cuddle and snuggle with her parents in endless hours of love. It rings a third time and all he can think of his Sara's wit and intellect, her never-ending patience and kindness and her unwavering love, even when he didn't deserve it.

But then the voicemail picks up and all he can think of is the potential danger they're in. He thinks of bondage and guns and water torture. He thinks of drowning and burning and bleeding out. He thinks of death and despair; he thinks of grief and pain. He thinks of losing Sara, of being widowed much before his time. He thinks of losing Noah and Zoe and of how there is no word in the English language for when a parent loses a child. He thinks of Sara having to watch her children die and it twists the knife in his heart; he thinks of Noah and Zoe watching their mother die and the knife twists even further as he realizes both situations are equally awful. He thinks that maybe they would have been safer here, with him. He thinks maybe he shouldn't have had them leave, after all.

He thinks maybe Sara had been right.

"Michael," Lincoln calls from the front seat of the rover. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Michael calls back, hastening his steps and trying not to think so much. "Yeah, I'm coming."


	7. Seven

**Hello again! It was a long day with the kiddies at work- swimming, gross meat loaf for lunch and lots and lots of overtired tears- so I don't have much to say. Other than another thank you for reading and reviewing, that is. Enjoy!**

* * *

Seven

The car ride back to the hotel is so silent Michael is sure he can hear the other occupants' thoughts. It's no small feat, winning over Lisa Tabak and gaining all the names in The Company's registry, but still, they are all wary to feel that this is a sort of victory. They've come pretty far already, but they still have a long way to go. Alex is brandishing the Halliburton case staring at it and running his hands over the cool metal as if he's having some sort of manic episode. Sucre's staring out the window beside him, most likely thinking of his family and longing to get back to them. Michael knows the feeling; he's been distracted, too. The fact that he cannot reach his family is not helping the situation at all.

They congregate in the common room and Alex opens the Halliburton case like a treasure chest. Files and manila folders and glossy photos fall onto the table and floor, information and classifications pouring into Alex's grasp. Kellerman once again pulls out his systemic database, explaining how he'll be able to run the names through the system to learn who's already deceased, who's been incarcerated and who they still need to catch. He and Alex get to work, the dream team, while Sucre pulls out the information, sorting case files from photographs and ignoring Company notes and orders. Lincoln and Michael watch from afar, close enough to get in on the action if necessary, but far enough away that they're able to have a moment alone.

Lincoln broaches the elephant in the room in an air of anxiety. "Still no word from Sofia or Sara?"

"I've got nothing, Linc," Michael sighs. "I've called five, maybe six, times. Still nothing."

"And you left messages, right?"

"Every time," Michael confirms. "They haven't returned any of them."

"That's strange," Lincoln frowns. "What do you think's going on?"

"I want to think they must be busy," Michael states. "It's what I told C-Note to do- keep them busy. I thought if they always had things to do, they wouldn't worry about us too much. And there's plenty to do in Raleigh. He's lived there since this all went down the first time, so he'll know what to do with them."

"I looked it up before we left," Lincoln says. "They have that place full of bouncy houses, BounceU, you know? Plus laser tag, go-karts, bowling and a Chuck E. Cheese. That's enough excitement for a week."

"Exactly my point," Michael nods. "I wanted them to always have something to do, to keep their minds off us."

"It sounds logical," Lincoln agrees. "But you said you 'want' to think that. What are you really thinking?"

"I'm afraid something happened," Michael admits. "I don't want to think about it. But if they could find us in that unknown warehouse in the backstreets of L.A., then they can certainly find C-Note's house in Raleigh."

"I see where you're coming from," Lincoln replies. "But they don't know we're coming after them, do they? The Company, I mean. If they don't know about us, why would they need to go after our families?"

"They never needed a reason before," Michael states and Lincoln has to give him that. "The bottom line is, there are only a handful of people who know that The Company exists. We're some of them and they tried to send a hit man to my apartment. Lisa's one of them and they tried to take her out, too. And our families are some of the ones in the know as well."

"But they're innocent!" Lincoln claims in outrage.

"Not to them," Michael frowns. "To them, they're just a few more people in the way of their achievements. They want to eliminate everyone who's ever known about The Company. Either eliminate them or force them to join."

"This is bullshit," Lincoln grumbles. "You don't think anything happened to them, though, right? It's just a fear?"

"For now, yes," Michael answers, glancing at the phone that remains frustratingly silent. "But if I don't hear from Sara or Sofia or any of them within the next few days, then we know we've got a problem."

* * *

It had all happened so incredibly fast; one moment, she was slathering jelly on a piece of whole grain bread, intent on making the kids some sandwiches, and the next she was diving to the floor, bullets flying over her head. She's hit with an incredible source of déjà vu, remembering how she and Michael had almost lost their lives this very same way years earlier. Benjamin appears almost out of nowhere, ushering her and the kids into the back bedroom, a gun cocked in his grasp and ready to fire. Noah and Zoe, stuck to her like glue, ask a million questions on their way there, none of which she answers because her only focus is on keeping the two of them safe.

There's shouting and screaming and gunshots being fired; Sara holds both children's heads close to her in an effort to block this out. She tells them it's all a game, that everything's okay, that it'll all be over soon and she doesn't believe a damn thing she's saying. Moments earlier, everything had been serenely normal; they'd just gotten back from the park and Sofia had suggested making an authentic Latin American dinner and had dragged LJ with her to the grocery store. Now, Sara prays they don't make it back until later; she hopes and begs that they'll take a while, because the last thing she wants is for them to be exposed to this kind of violence.

There's a scream heard from the living room and a thud on the hard floor. Noah and Zoe ask, again, what's happening and Sara again deflects their question. She tells them they have to be quiet and uses this newfound silence to listen to the occurrences in the other room. The gunshots have stopped; no longer does she hear the crashing of glass and the ammunition being fired into the air. Everything's quiet. Well, not everything; a moment later, there are footsteps, slow at first, then quicker and quicker, until they reach the back bedroom door. Sara ushers the children under the bed in an attempt to hide them and tells them to be as quiet as they can.

"Where are you going, Mommy?" Noah asks fearfully and Sara wants scream and cry and hug and hold him all at once.

"I'm not going anywhere, Noah, I promise," She whispers back. "Just stay right here, okay? Stay with Zoe and be super, super quiet. Can you do that?"

He nods and Zoe has tears in her eyes and it's all she can do to tear herself away from them. They climb under the bed and Sara takes a deep breath before searching the room for anything she can use as a weapon. The footsteps are coming closer, now, and still the only thing she's found is a handful of candlesticks and a few thumbtacks. She finds a letter opener on the desk and it's the best thing she's got, so she's brandishing it like a knife as the doorknob slowly twists open. A tall man, dark-haired and tattooed down his neck, stares back at her, his gun pointed low and immediately raising as he comes face to face with her.

"Whoa whoa whoa," The man says, motioning towards her letter opener. "Now you really don't think you can bring a knife to a gun fight and still win, do you?"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Sara asks, undeterred.

"You don't actually think I'm going to answer that, do you?" The man chuckles. "Come on; you're coming home with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Sara sneers.

He steps forward and cocks the gun against her temple, the letter opener falling from her grasp. "Either you come with us now or so help me God, I will kill you right here."

Sara inhales and exhales evenly, despite her hammering heart, and manages to utter, "Fine."

He leads her down the hallway, into the living room and through the scene of the crime. An unidentified man- one of _them_, Sara thinks angrily- is lying broken over the coffee table, a headshot, or so it looks like. In the corner of the room lies Benjamin, blood flowing freely from his stomach. Sara gasps and asks, "Is he dead?"

"No, but he will be," The guy chuckles. "Norton got him good."

Once outside, Sara is about to ask where she's being taken- as if they'd answer her, anyway- but instead, another man, this one sandy-haired and wearing Harry Potter-like glasses, leans over her and says, "Sorry, Doc."

And then everything goes black.

* * *

It's been only a few minutes, but it seems like an hour since they'd last seen their mother. Noah reaches out and grabs the letter opener she'd held only moments before and prepares to defend himself and his sister. It's just like when he and his friends play pirates at school; they have to duel in a swordfight and use sticks to joust with one another until one of them wins. Except this time, it's real. This time, he's not pretend saving Ava Brenner, the cute second-grader. He has to _really_ save his mommy and he's not ready and anxious to get it over with all the same. He waits for her to come back a few minutes more, but all he hears are footsteps too heavy to be hers and voices that belong to males.

Beside him, Zoe grows impatient. "Mommy! Mommy, come back!"

"Zoe, be quiet!" Noah hisses. "Mommy said to be quiet!"

"Mommy!" Zoe yells, her voice growing hysterical. "_Mommy!_"

Noah claps his free hand over his sister's mouth as a pair of footsteps inches closer to the bedroom door. He watches as the doorknob slowly turns and sees a pair of black boots step into the room. A man's voice asks, "Hello? Anybody in here?"

Noah sends Zoe a look, urging her not to speak, and this time, she obeys. But it's too late; in the next moment, the man is bending down and picking up the dust ruffle, exposing the two children. He looks incredibly surprised and Noah's eyes narrow. "Oh, hey there, little guys! What are you doing under the bed?"

Holding up the letter opener like a sword, Noah growls, "Go away."

Zoe whines, "Where's Mommy?"

"Whoa, whoa, hey buddy," The man defends. "I'm not gonna hurt'cha. My name's Norton, what's yours?"

Neither of the children answer and Norton chuckles. "Alright, your parents taught you good. Don't talk to strangers, right?"

Again, both kids are silent. Norton nods and says, "Okay, come on. Can't just leave you guys here all alone, can I?"

They stare at the man; Noah knows his mommy's coming back. She promised, after all. This house isn't safe, not anymore, but he knows they can't just leave. Not when their mother is coming back and not with this guy, that's for sure. Zoe looks over at her brother and slips her tiny hand into his. He squeezes hers; she squeezes back. It's always been their "I'm scared" code; they'd done this ever since they were tiny so they weren't ever alone in their fright. They climb out from under the bed, hands still entwined, but don't move a muscle more. Norton is now growing impatient, Noah can tell. It's the same face his mommy makes when he and Zoe are misbehaving and it's the same expression his daddy gets when something falls out of place.

"Alright, come on already," Norton says, grabbing a hold of Noah's t-shirt and dragging the children down the hallway. He takes them out the back door to avoid going through the crime scene in the living room.

They approach a van and he straps them in tightly, smirking at their clasped hands. "Nothing to be worried about. When we get there, I'll give you guys some chocolate cake, okay? You like chocolate cake?"

Zoe nods slowly, but asks, "Where's Mommy?"

"Look, I don't know, alright?" Norton sighs, running a hand through his hair. He then looks at Noah, who's still staring at him distrustfully, and snatches the letter opener from his hands. "Won't be needing this, kiddo."

He tosses it over his shoulder and it soars into a sewer grate. Norton then takes his place behind the wheel and tears off down the street, the children watching remorsefully as the house they'd lived in for the past three days turned into a faraway blur behind them. They don't let go of each other's hands; instead, Zoe stares out her window and Noah glances out his, hoping for any sign of his mother or the scary man who'd taken her. It's hard to make out anyone with Norton driving so quickly and when they pull onto the highway, they know all hope is lost. They're driving over the ocean, past green mile markers and other zooming cars, and it seems like ages until Norton pulls off the highway and drives onto the exit marked Durham.

They're driving a moment more before he pulls into a cheap-looking motel that reminds Noah a lot of the one they'd stayed in just days earlier. But this thought makes his eyes burn with tears and he blinks them and the thoughts away as quickly as they'd appeared. He and Zoe are going to be okay; they had to be. He promised his Dad, days ago, that he'd keep his mom and sister safe and that's what he was going to try to do. Another man, this one taller and greyer, greets Norton when he parks the car and Zoe turns to tell Noah that she's scared. Noah tells her everything's going to be okay even though he doesn't know that to be true because it's what their mom and dad would say. He's sure of it.

"Look, we, uh, we ran into a bit of a problem at Franklin's house," Norton begins to explain. "First of all, Lawson's dead."

"I always knew he wouldn't make it," The other man says. "He didn't have the balls to get the job done."

"And second," Norton continues, opening the car door to reveal Noah and Zoe. "Well, you see."

The man peers in and then glances at Norton and asks angrily, "What the fuck is this?"

"Scofield's kids were there, man!" Norton defends. "I didn't know what to do with them!"

"Uh, how about leave them?" The man suggests. "This isn't part of the plan and you know it!"

"Heath, come on, man," Norton pleads, unbuckling the kids and pulling them out of the car semi-forcefully. "You can't just leave kids behind. Especially not there; the place was a fucking _mess_."

"Okay, well," Heath still looks angry, but he ushers the kids toward the third door from the right. "Let's just get them inside."

They do so and Noah and Zoe grimace at the sight of the place. It's a small room and it isn't very clean; housekeeping obviously had yet to set foot in this room. Heath pushes them out of the way once they're inside and rubs a hand over his face, saying, "Edison's going to be _pissed_, Norton."

"I wasn't going to leave them there," He states adamantly. "We'll figure it out."

"No, _you'll_ figure it out," Heath shakes his head. "I am not getting involved in this bullshit. You're going to call him and tell him we have Scofield's kids and he can decide what we do with them. And then, believe me, he'll decide what to do with you."

"When do we get our chocolate cake?" Zoe asks, her voice small.

Heath looks at her as if she has three heads. "Your _what?!_"

"I promised them chocolate cake when we got here," Norton says sheepishly. "You don't happen to have any, do you?"

"Yeah, let me just pull it out of my ass," Heath replies sarcastically. "Why would you promise them that?"

"I don't know! They were scared! I panicked! Kids love cake!"

Heath sighs heavily and says, "I don't know what to fucking do with you."

He rummages through the small collection of food they have and offers Noah and Zoe a bag of stale pretzels from the vending machine. "This is all I got, kid."

"I don't want pretzels," Zoe pouts, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Well, it's pretzels or nothing, so I'd take them!" Heath tells her and Zoe sticks her tongue out at him, refusing his snack. Noah is still silent.

"So…" Norton starts a moment later. "What do we do with them?"

Heath shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't know. You're the genius who decided to bring them here. You decide."

Norton stumbles and stammers a few moments before Heath decides, "You know what? No. It's about time I take the reigns around here. I knew I should've gone to Franklin's today. I knew it was a stupid idea to let _you_ go as cover."

His partner looks genuinely hurt and Heath sighs. "Just put them in the closet, Norton."

"The closet? But-"

"Just fucking _do it_ before I put you in there, too."

Norton glares at him, but does as he's told, harshly directing the kids towards the closet on the other side of the room. He yanks the door open, says, "It'll be alright," and then shoves them inside.

Darkness engulfs them the moment the door is shut behind him. The closet smells musty and damp, like a collection of pool-soaked towels left on a shelf too long. Noah's not too sure what else is possibly in this closet; he gropes around aimlessly in the dark for a moment before coming into contact with the wall in front, beside, and behind him. There's an ironing board, a blanket, an extra pillow and a couple of hangers. But otherwise, the closet is empty. He can hear Zoe's shallow breathing beside him and he reaches over to grasp her hand again. She's afraid, he can tell by the hard squeeze she gives his hand, and he's scared too, so he squeezes back.

He has no idea what is going on. He doesn't know who those men are; the ones who took his mom or the ones who took them. He doesn't know why he and Zoe and his mom are even on this stupid vacation or why his dad couldn't have come with them. He does know, however, that vacations are supposed to be fun and this is anything but. He doesn't know where is mom and dad are, but he wants to find them. He wants to be with them and he wants to go home, because this little trip is not exactly his idea of a good time. He wonders what Sofia and LJ will think when they get back to Benjamin's house. He wonders if they'll come looking for him and Zoe. He wonders if anyone will ever find them, stuck here in a closet in a city called Durham.

Just then, Zoe breaks down. She bursts into tears, hot and wet and trailing down her face. She sits upon the grimy carpet and Noah sits beside her, still holding her hand. "Don't cry, Zoe."

"I want to go home!" She wails. "I want Mommy and I want Daddy and I want to go home!"

"I want to go home too," Noah agrees and sighs. "We're going to go home soon. You'll see."

"Hello? Is there someone there?"

Zoe immediately ceases her tears and Noah's head snaps in the direction of a female voice. They remain quiet and watch the darkness as something- or some_one_- moves on the other end of the closet. When they don't respond, she speaks again, "It's okay. I'm not like those men. I'm not going to hurt you."

At the mention of the men and adding to her fear, Zoe begins to cry again. The voice says, "It'll be okay. Don't cry. Did they take you away from your mommy and daddy?"

Noah nods, even though he's sure she can't see him. Zoe, tears subsiding, sniffles a little and replies, "Uh-huh."

"Yeah, they took me away from my mom, too," The voice sighs. "What're your names?"

"I'm Noah," Noah answers quietly and his eyes are just starting to adjust to the lack of light. "And this is my sister, Zoe."

"Nice to meet you, Noah and Zoe," The girl leans forward to see them better, her face framed by jet black hair, her piercing blue eyes shining. "I'm Emily."


	8. Eight

**Good afternoon! Hopefully everything is going well for you! Here I am with yet another update, quickly as promised. Your reviews give me life, so keep 'em coming! In the meantime, enjoy chapter eight and thank you, as always, for reading! :)**

* * *

Eight

It's hot and humid and sticky; that's the first thing Sara notices as she slowly comes to. The air is thick and heavy as it enters her aching lungs; her hurried breathing the only thing she focuses on a while, still groggy and disoriented, the day a complete blur. Her head is pounding and there's something running tantalizingly slow down her hairline; she's not sure if it's sweat or blood or a sick combination of the two, but it's collecting in a shallow pool on her collarbone. Her body feels as though it's been set on fire. There's a faint tug on her wrists when she writhes in pain and she realizes she's bound to whatever fixture they have her sitting upon. Thick, unrelenting duct tape is anchoring her here and no matter how she twists and tugs, she can't get free.

Her eyes flutter open, then, and her vision is blurry and distorted. She blinks once, twice, three times before it goes clear. There isn't much before her; a thick slab of duct tape is over her mouth, she feels it now, so she can't shout out even if she wanted to. There's a window on the east wall covered by a cheap, floral-printed curtain; the glass is broken and achingly hot air is flowing in, long and slow. As far as she can tell, she's the only thing in the room; the wooden floorboards creak and squeak as she wriggles around again, trying to get a good look at her empty surroundings. It's an old house, to say the least; that much she can tell. Glancing out the window, Sara can see nothing but trees, cattails and browned grass that's long overdue for a trim.

She hears voices, then, on the other side of the door and instantly quiets. A man and a woman, she believes, are arguing back an forth, speaking in hushed whispers as if they were afraid someone would hear them in this abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Her stomach growls, then, and she remembers she hadn't eaten lunch; by default, neither had the children, and she hopes to God Sofia and LJ have found them, now. She prays they're alright, that they're safely removed from their unsafe environment, but it hurts too much to think that she's not with them and she has to force herself to stop. The voices are getting louder and closer; she strains to hear what they're saying and before long, they're right outside the door.

"Come on, Stace, I don't think you're thinking rationally."

"What is there to think rationally about? We get what we need out of her and then we kill her."

"And what if she doesn't want to talk?"

"Then we kill her sooner."

"See, that's where you're being irrational. We don't have to kill anyone."

"Murphy, you know if we kill her, we'll get to Scofield in a _heartbeat_."

"Stacy, she's got _kids_."

"So? You think they'll be the only kids without a mother? That's life."

"I'm not killing anyone."

"You couldn't, anyway. You don't have what it takes."

"Look, I didn't sign up for this. When Edison approached me-"

"When Edison approached you, it was with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You took it. Now, you have to pay your dues and suffer the consequences! These kinds of things come with being part of this operation, Murphy. It's about time you get it through your head."

The door suddenly opens with a jolt and Sara is staring back at two Company operatives; Stacy is a fiery redhead with a ruthless personality to go with it. Her eyes are cold and hard and she's wearing an expression that screams there is nothing and no one out there that she cares about; something that comes only when one loses everything. Murphy, her sidekick, is standing behind her, and this speaks volumes about who's in charge here. Sara recognizes him instantly; sandy-haired and wearing the Harry Potter glasses- he's the one who had knocked her unconscious. She recalls even then how he'd looked nervous and unwilling and how he'd apologized just before knocking the sense out of her. He looks as if he's simply along for the ride, as if he wishes to do no harm to anyone.

She makes a mental note of this. She could use it to her advantage.

"Ah, welcome back to the land of the living," Stacy sneers. "We brought you a little snack."

She crosses the room and digs her nails into the skin of Sara's cheek, yanking off the duct tape maliciously and definitely taking some of Sara's skin with it. She hisses in pain and Stacy smirks, "It's not much, but the kitchen's been out of service for years. Much like the whole house."

A stale crust of bread is shoved into Sara's mouth and she coughs and sputters and chokes on it before spitting it onto the ground. She isn't going to take their charity. Stacy frowns and turns to Murphy, "Clean that up."

Murphy glares at her but does as he's told, muttering, "Queen Stacy and the rest of us are all her worker bees…"

"Watch your mouth," Stacy sneers and then Sara finds her voice.

"What happened to Tattoo?" She utters. "The guy that brought me here. What happened to him?"

Stacy shakes her head. "He didn't bring you here. _We_ brought you here. Olsen was just a pawn. He's been taken care of."

Sara glances away from them, saying, "I don't understand you people. You're _sick_."

"Yeah?" Stacy cocks an eyebrow, ripping a new piece of duct tape off and slapping it across her mouth. "When I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you."

She turns on her heel and stalks out of the room. Murphy looks up at her and offers her a reluctant grimace. "If I were you, I wouldn't mess with her."

Sara rolls her eyes, wondering how much these two knew about her. Because if they honestly knew as much as they claim to, they would know that no amount of torture can possibly faze her, anymore.

* * *

"Look, would you calm down? I'm sure they're fine."

"Fine? You're sure they're _fine?_" Michael exclaims. "It's been almost a week since I've heard from them. No, Paul, they're not fine."

"We've been calling them nonstop for days," Lincoln adds. "No response on any front. Something's wrong."

Kellerman sighs and turns away from the database, still running names even days later. They've been holed up in this hotel room ever since leaving Lisa Tabak's house two days earlier. It's been a week and a half since they started this whole operation and with each passing day, the anxiety grows and grows for both Lincoln and Michael, neither of who have heard from their families affirming their well-being. They can't focus on the task at hand; they're too distracted and blinded by their worry to zero in on possible Company agents. Michael runs an exhausted hand over his face, the stress mounting and starting to close in, and Lincoln paces back and forth on the other side of the room, anger and frustration emanating from his every action.

"This is my wife and my children we're talking about," Michael states. "If they're in danger, I need to go help them. If something happens and I'm not there…"

"Sara's pretty capable of taking care of herself," Kellerman says, his hand automatically coming to his chest. "I still have the scars to prove it."

"That's not the point," Michael frowns. "If my family is in trouble, I need to help them. That's the bottom line. They're always going to come first, Paul. They're the most important people in the world to me."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Lincoln agrees. "In the end, the only thing that matters is family. I'm with you man; let's get out of here."

He and Michael begin to throw their things together and Kellerman immediately objects. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going? You can't just leave; you have business to attend to."

"No, Paul, _you_ have business to attend to," Michael answers smartly. "I'm sure you can figure the rest of this out."

"Yeah, this ain't our problem anymore," Lincoln agrees. "You want to take down The Company, fine. But leave us out of it."

"No, we had an agreement!" Kellerman insists. "You would help us out and then you'd walk away. You haven't finished yet!"

"No, we had an agreement last time," Michael corrects. "No jail time in exchange for obtaining Scylla. That was our incentive, our motive. But we don't have one now. This time, it's just a favor to you. Well I'm done doing favors for a government that profits by screwing us over. You want to take down The Company, you do it yourself."

Kellerman watches in shock as Lincoln and Michael continue packing. "You can't be serious."

"Serious as ever."

"You can't just quit."

"That's funny; that's exactly what we're doing."

"I never expected you guys to take the coward's way out."

"_No_," Lincoln snarls, turning to Kellerman and slamming him against the nearby wall, his hands curling around the man's throat. "Cowardly is not finishing this job in the first place. Cowardly is expecting everything to sort itself out and not arresting Edison and his crew because you assumed everything was alright. Cowardly is sending an innocent man to prison on a life sentence in order to get back at his father instead of confronting the right man in the first place!"

Kellerman coughs and gasps and Lincoln releases him, saying, "My family is in trouble and I'm going to help them. That is _not_ cowardly."

Tensions are running extremely high; Alex and Sucre are watching the entire situation play out and wishing they had enough courage to go with them. But before any of them can react any further, there is a chiming sound from the corner of the room where the systemic database rests. All eyes snap towards the machine and Kellerman says, "It's finished."

Sucre asks, "We have the names now?"

"Let's find out," Kellerman replies, sitting before the system and clicking through the list. "Well we can cross of Owen Frank, the operative we killed outside of the airport last week."

"_You_ killed," Lincoln corrects.

"And Thomas Underwood and Larry Hill, the two from Lisa's house," Kellerman states, crossing them off as well. "I checked their IDs after we killed them."

"After _you_ killed them," Sucre says and Kellerman frowns.

"Semantics," He waves this off. "Just give me a minute here to sort through the names again."

He clicks a few times, deletes a few files and comes up with a list of seven names. "Gilbert Lawson, George Olsen, Eric Heath, Philip Norton, Richard Murphy, Stacy Breckenridge and, of course, Nathaniel Edison."

He lets the names sit in for a while before saying. "Seven people, gentlemen. We're only dealing with seven people."

"Of those seven people, how many have recruited new operatives?" Alex asks.

"We won't know that until we reach them," Kellerman says. "But I'm assuming none of them have had a chance to recruit since they're still in the 'destroy anyone who opposes us' phase."

"So what do we do now?" Sucre wonders. "They could be anywhere."

"No, not anywhere," Kellerman disagrees, pointing to each of the profiles that list a current location. "Like I said, you can't hide from the government, folks. Edison's in Clearwater; we can save him for last. The others are spread between Raleigh and Durham, North Carolina."

He glances over toward Michael and Lincoln and says, "What do you know? Looks like we'll all be taking that trip back east, after all."

* * *

She doesn't know what time it is; she doesn't even know what day it is. But she's hungry and weak and being tied to a chair isn't the best way to get a nice eight-hour sleep. Stacy and Murphy hadn't really done anything to her; on the contrary, they seem to enjoy leaving her in complete solitary confinement. If this is their form of torture, Sara thinks, they may want to step it up a notch, because it's pretty bland and she's been through far worse. Just as she's thinking this, the door crashes open and Stacy stands at the threshold, her cold eyes boring into Sara's and searching for any kind of discomfort or psychological pain she may have caused. Sara feels pretty satisfied when Stacy comes up empty handed.

"I should've known better than to play the solitary card with you," Stacy says menacingly. "You're used to the abandonment by now, aren't you? Daddy cares more about his career and his image than his own family. Mom drinks herself to death. Junkie boyfriends get you hooked and addicted before leaving you high and dry. No stranger to heartache, are you, Doctor?"

Sara stares back at her, eyes blank, and Stacy chuckles. "Nah, not anymore, though, right? You really turned yourself around. Cleaned up your act, did some good for humanity. Got married, had a couple of kids… Everything's just fine and dandy, right?"

"Tell me, have you told your kids how mommy and daddy met?" Stacy sneers. "Do they know that their father was a convict and a liar who seduced their mother into thinking that he cared about her just so he could get what he wanted? Do they know that their mommy and daddy's courtship was an act of adultery, because their daddy was still legally married? Do they know that their mother had to a shoot a woman- their own _grandmother_- just to save their father's life?"

Sara, still, remains strictly calm. Stacy then asks, "What about you, Sara? Do you tell them about you? Do you tell them how you used to steal morphine from the hospital in order to get high? Do you tell them about that time you were so far gone you let a kid die right in front of you? Do you tell them about your AA meetings or your aggressive alcohol addiction? And let's not forget about the time you overdosed all because of their very own father. Do they know about that?"

"See, I know you, Sara," Stacy snarls. "I did my homework. And if you think I'm not going to use your every weakness to my advantage, you might want to think again. This can be very easy or this can be very painful; it's your choice."

Sara can't help herself; she smirks. Stacy frowns. "You got something to say?"

Leaning over her, she yanks her tape free once more and spits, "_Say it_."

"If you did your homework, then you'll know that this isn't my first time being tortured," Sara replies smartly. "My life's been threatened before. So if you think _this_ is torture, think again. I've been through a hell of a lot worse; you might want to step it up."

Stacy reels back and smacks Sara hard across the face. "You watch your tongue with me, you little bitch, or there will be more where that came from."

She's split her lip; Sara can taste blood, warm and coppery, but she smiles wryly anyway. "Bring it."

She's sure Stacy has never tortured anyone in her life from the look of mixed confusion, frustration and anger she receives a moment later. Stacy reapplies the duct tape to her mouth and leaves the room without another word, taking her anger out, instead on Murphy, who suggests she give it a rest. She reams him out, screaming and blaming him for things that aren't his fault, before their voices grow farther and farther away, signifying they've left her there alone again. Sara groans a little as more hot air flows through the broken window, but pauses immediately in realization. _Broken window_. It's dark and dim in the room so she can barely make out her surroundings and maybe the hunger is causing her eyes to play tricks on her, but she swears she can see a small collection of broken glass on the windowsill.

Broken glass and duct tape do not make for a good combination; it could be her ticket out of here.

* * *

"What time do we land in Raleigh-Durham?"

"I couldn't book us on a flight to Raleigh-Durham; literally every flight on every airline is booked until Wednesday and I figured that would be too late. I booked us on the six-thirty flight to Fayetteville instead."

"And we're getting to Raleigh how?"

"There's a bus station fifteen feet from the airport. It's only about an hour between cities; we'll get there as soon as we can."

"As soon as we can is not soon enough."

"Well you know what, man, I tried. You're welcome to _walk_, for all I care!"

"You know what, Paul? You wouldn't be saying any of this if it was _your_ family out there, so why don't you shut the fuck up?"

"Linc…"

"No, I'm sick and tired of him treating us like we're a bunch of-"

"Hey papi," Sucre interrupts. "Anyone else hear that?"

The arguing ceases immediately and all five men are silent. There is a dull ringing sound coming from one of the duffel bags by the door; it's a moment or two before they put two and two together. Michael says, "That's the cell phone. They're finally calling us back."

Lincoln crosses the room in two enormous strides, digs through Michael's bag and answers the phone in one fluid motion. "Hello?"

"_Lincoln?! Gracias a Dios, you're finally answering. I tried calling for hours and had the wrong number and when I finally figured it out, the phone was dead and so I sent LJ to get a charger but then we had to find an outlet and ay Dios mio, I don't know what to do_."

"Sofia," Lincoln breathes in relief. "Thank God. We've been worried sick. Are you alright?"

"_Yes. Wait, no. Yes, I'm fine, but no, we're not alright_."

"Sofia, is LJ there with you?" Lincoln asks, throwing a cautionary glance at Michael who's waiting slightly impatiently for news on his family as well. "Sara? The kids?"

"_Todo era __una locura. __De sangre__, armas, cuerpos __... __No sé __dónde están, __Lincoln__!_"

"Sofia, put LJ on the phone, please," Lincoln says impatiently.

There's a shuffling on the other end before LJ picks up, "_Dad! Dad, we're sitting in the parking lot of a gas station and Sofia's freaking out and we don't know where to go or what to do next_."

"LJ," Lincoln closes his eyes in relief. "You're alright. Thank God. What happened?"

"_We were at Ben's house, like Uncle Mike said. Sofia decided she was going to make empanadas to thank Ben for his hospitality or whatever. She said she needed help at the store so I offered to go with her. We were gone an hour, maybe, but when we came back… Dad, when we came back everything was a disaster."_

"Hold on, LJ," Lincoln says, placing the phone between himself and his brother. "I'm putting you on speaker, okay?"

"_Yeah._"

"What happened?"

"_I don't know. There were police everywhere. They said we'd just escaped a triple homicide._"

"A triple… A triple homicide," Michael's pale as a sheet, asking, "LJ, are they alright? Tell me it wasn't them."

"_It wasn't. It was your friend, Ben, and two other guys we had never seen before_."

Michael breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Oh, thank God. LJ, I need to talk to them. Put Sara on the phone."

"LJ," Kellerman calls from afar. "Hi, this is Paul Kellerman. I'm sure you remember me and we can get down to brass tacks later, but first, can you describe the men to me?"

Lincoln and Michael stare at him, looks obviously reading that there was a time and a place and this isn't it, but LJ answers uneasily, anyway. "_Uh… sure. One guy had a tattoo of a snake down his neck. The other was kind of chubby with a buzz cut… But that's all I saw._"

"That's all I need, thank you," Kellerman states. "Gentlemen, these men would be Lawson and Olsen, which means we're now working with five men. I swear, this gets easier and easier."

Ignoring him, Michael again pleads, "Sara. I need to talk to Sara, LJ."

"_Uncle Mike… She's not here_."

He freezes. "What are you talking about?"

They hear Sofia once again say, "_No sé __dónde están_!"

LJ hesitates before saying, "_When we got back, there were three bodies, that's it. No sign of Sara, Noah or Zoe. They're gone_."

Lincoln watches as his brother's face crumbles in terror. He says nothing more; his eyes widened, his mouth slackened, he's despondent. Lincoln then asks, "Where are you now? What are you guys doing?"

"_We don't know where they are, exactly, but we've been looking for them. We're staying at a different hotel every night trying not to stay in the same place for too long. It could take a while, though. Durham's a big city_."

"Wait, Durham?" Lincoln asks. "I thought you were in Raleigh."

"_We were. But we found this cell phone in Ben's mailbox and underneath it was a piece of notepad paper. It only had one word on it- Durham_."

At this, Michael looks up again, somewhat hopeful. "You found the note with the phone, you said?"

"_Yeah, why?_"

"She's helping you," Michael smiles proudly. "She's trying to tell you where they are."


	9. Nine

**You guys are all amazing- keep it up. I'm glad you're all enjoying and hope you continue to! Thanks for reading and, as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated!**

* * *

Nine

It had rained last night, pounding wet drops against the thin, dilapidated roof, rendering Sara unable to sleep. As if this was any different from any other night she spent here. Now, the air filtering in through the broken window is not only hot, but also sticky and damp with the leftover humidity. It mixes with her sweat and makes her hair stick to her forehead and the nape of her neck; she tries not to think of the last time she had a shower. She tries not to think of Benjamin Franklin, lying broken in his own home, who died protecting her and her family even though he had his own. She tries not to think of her children, who may be with Sofia and LJ, out of harm's way, or may not be, instead off somewhere alone and worried and needing her. And, of course, she tries desperately hard not to think of Michael, who has absolutely no idea where she is or what's been happening to his family.

The sun rises a little after six a.m. and Sara watches as the sky transitions from black to purple to full-fledged blue; one day gone, another just beginning. The sun turns from an orange ball in the horizon to a burning yellow ascending into its place in the sky, ready for its duty on this brand new day. A breeze too muggy to be considered refreshing tousles the too-long blades of grass outside that broken window and Sara wonders just how long this abandoned house had been here before The Company decided to claim it as their own. She can hear clattering down the hall- surely Stacy had startled Murphy, once again- and then the two are bickering; all the usual morning entertainment. She wonders what they'll bring her for breakfast today- yesterday it had been oatmeal that had most definitely expired ages ago- and then snickers, because she won't be eating it, anyway.

Footsteps on the creaky wooden floors tell her they're coming her way and she fixes her eyes on the door and readies her signature blank stare. Stacy, of course, enters the room first, but it's not a bowl of cereal or a crust of bread she's holding, this time. It's a gun; Sara recognizes it as the same gun held against her temple the day she'd been brought here. Murphy slinks in behind her, holding a water bottle and avoiding Sara's gaze. Stacy crosses over to the window and yanks the curtain open, shedding light on the small room- and on the pile of broken glass Sara was sure she saw, earlier. But if Stacy notices this, she doesn't acknowledge it; she simply caresses the gun as if it was a beloved pet and speaks to Sara without looking at her.

"Edison's in town today," Stacy states. "I have a meeting with him at the marina in a half hour. Heath, too. We're his right-hand men, you might say. I'll be sure to ask after your children. God knows they're giving him all kinds of trouble."

Sara's eyes widen; her children? They'd gone after and captured her _children?_ Her heart is hammering in her chest and she wants to vomit, scream, fight and go to them immediately. She can do none of those things. Stacy continues, "You see, we were supposed to bring _you_ to Durham, too. But I decided, at the last minute, to keep you right here, in Raleigh. And what a good decision that was, huh? I mean, you can't keep all your ammunition in one place, right? They've got your kids in Durham, we've got you here; it's a win-win."

Sara tries not to let her disappointment show, but if LJ and Sofia had somehow miraculous found her note, then they weren't going to find her. She's comforted, though, by the feeling that perhaps they could find Noah and Zoe; Durham is a big city, but there are only so many places that they could hide. Stacy suddenly glances up, as if Sara's said the words aloud, and points the gun to her forehead, the metal cool against her overheated skin. "Now, we're meeting to discuss our final plans. I'm supposed to report to Edison that you're dead. But you aren't dead are you? Not yet, anyway. You have no idea how long I've waited for the order to pull the trigger."

She cocks the gun and Sara closes her eyes, breathes in and out slowly, and tries to think of anything but death. She thinks instead of Zoe's little voice and Noah's contagious giggle and Michael's irrevocable love. She thinks of the night Noah was born and how they'd cried more than he did. She thinks of their wedding, short and simple and sweet, and of how, two years later, she'd told him- instead of Lincoln, this time- that she was pregnant again. She thinks of birthday parties and family movie nights and attending, annually, the New York State Fair. She doesn't think of where she'll go when she dies; she's never been very religious, but she can't be going to Heaven, not as a former junkie and alcoholic, not as a former murderer. Instead, she thinks of Michael and of Noah and of Zoe, because, truthfully, they're all she's been thinking about for the past few days.

Suddenly, the gun is removed from her forehead. She opens her eyes slowly, watching as Stacy turns away from her and hands the gun to Murphy instead. His hands tremble with the weight of it as he asks, "What are you doing?"

"You do it. Prove you _deserve_ to be a part of The Company again."

Murphy looks unsure, turning the gun over and over in his hands. He points it shakily at Sara, but does not pull the trigger. "I… I can't!"

"You are a coward," Stacy shouts. "You're pathetic and useless and weak and you always have been!"

She crosses the room to the door and pulls it open. "I'll be back in an hour. And Murphy?"

He glances over but doesn't meet her eyes. "What?"

"I want her dead before I come home or you'll join her."

She slams the door behind her and the entire room is bathed in an uncomfortable silence. Murphy waits until he hears Stacy's car tear away from the house before placing the gun down and crossing the room and gently taking the tape off of her mouth. "I brought you some water."

"Did you poison it?" Sara eyes the bottle warily and Murphy honestly shakes his head.

"I have a gun. What would I need to poison you for?"

She eyes him distrustfully, but accepts the water anyway and relishes the way it instantly awakens her. "Thank you."

Murphy nods and then turns away. "I'm going to kill you, Sara."

She smirks. "Are you?"

"I am. I have to," His eyes meet hers for a moment and then turn away instantly. "I have to kill you. I'm sorry we tortured you like this, but-"

"Please," Sara chuckles, but there's no warmth in it. "I've been through worse. This is nothing."

Murphy sits in front of her so they're almost eye-to-eye. "Stacy said The Company tortured you before… What did they do to you?"

"You name it," Sara sighs. "They did it."

"I'm sorry."

"For a guy who's supposed to kill me, you're pretty apologetic," Sara notices and Murphy frowns and points the gun at her again.

"Shut up. I'll do it. I will."

But he doesn't, so she then asks, "Stacy said that someone has my kids. Please tell me they're okay."

"I don't know, but I'm sure they are," Murphy mumbles. "They're not bad guys, Norton and Heath. Norton owns a landscaping company and Heath is in real estate. Or, they were. I don't know."

"Where are they keeping them?"

"You honestly expect me to tell you that?"

Sara glances down and doesn't look at the gun in Murphy's grasp. "They're good kids, you know. Noah's just finishing up first grade and he loves it, of course. He's so smart, just like his father. He's really shy, though; he's always been quiet and observant, ever since he was a baby. You always hear those horror stories, you know, about parents staying up all night with a screaming baby. Not us, at least not with Noah. He slept through the night from the very beginning and only cried when he needed something. He's so sweet and caring and such a good big brother. He loves his sister to death. They have their moments, but all brothers and sisters do."

"And Zoe," Sara smiles as she always does when talking of her children. "She is the star of the show. So giggly and bubbly and lively; she'll talk to anyone, the polar opposite of her brother. She's so funny; the things that come out of her mouth constantly amaze me. And she's patient, too, something she obviously inherited from her father. She's incredibly loving; she just hugs and kisses us endlessly and I never get enough of it. The imagination in that child, too, will blow your mind. Her dolls are always going to space and meeting underwater aliens and bungee jumping off of the kitchen counter. She looks up to Noah and is friends with everyone at school and is just a social butterfly, really."

"They're beautiful," Sara continues. "Michael says they look like me, but I look at them and all I see are mini-Scofields."

"Oh yeah?" Murphy says half-heartedly as if he's trying- and failing- to not let her words affect him.

"They're only six and four, you know," Sara then says, her voice going from playful to deadly serious. "They're too young to lose their mother. I was only thirteen when I lost mine and I thought _that_ was too young."

"I have to do it."

"You don't," Sara disagrees. "They're young enough that by the time they're my age, they won't even remember me."

"I have to kill you!"

"No, you don't!" Sara insists. "You can let me go. You can come with me and help me get my children back. You can get us back to my husband and I can see to it that you only get a minimal sentence."

"Yeah, right," Murphy says sarcastically, standing and pointing the gun at her once more. "And why would you help me? Out of the kindness of your heart? Because you're a Good Samaritan? Please. I'm not an idiot! I know you're trying to talk me out of it. I know you're only saying this so you can get away! You'd never follow through!"

"Yes, I would," Sara says gravely. "I keep my promises."

"No, you wouldn't," Murphy shouts bitterly. "You'd be home with your husband and your children and you'd forget all about me. And me? I'd be rotting in some prison cell, all because I did something I didn't want to do in the first place!"

"Then don't do it." Sara pleads. "You don't have to kill me. You can let me go."

"No, I'm going to," His face hardens and he cocks the gun, aiming for her forehead. "I'll make it quick and painless, I promise."

Sara takes a deep breath and stares down the barrel of the gun. She's almost sure he isn't going to do it, but there's always that chance. He says, "Stacy's right; I'm pathetic and useless and weak. But not anymore. I'm not going to take it anymore!"

"So this is how it's going to be," Sara deadpans. "You're just going to shoot me."

"Yeah," Murphy sighs. "I guess I am."

She closes her eyes and again thinks of her husband and two children. "They'll never forgive you for this."

His voice quivers when he says, "I'm sorry, Sara."

And then there is a shot.

* * *

Noah isn't sure how long he and Zoe have been holed up in this closet, but however long it's been, Emily's been here longer. He likes Emily; they both do. She tells them stories and jokes and keeps them occupied and entertained so they don't think about their parents too much. But it doesn't mean he doesn't think about them at all; he hopes his mom, wherever she is, is okay and that his dad is safe, too. He wishes he could go home, that they could _all_ go home, but he's not sure that's going to happen anytime soon. Emily suddenly crawls across the floor of the closet, beckons for him and Zoe to lean closer, and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.

"So I've been thinking," Emily says. "We need to escape. We need to get out of here."

"How?" Noah asks simply. "The door is locked."

"And that other guy is scary," Zoe trembles.

"No, I have it all figured out," Emily whispers. "I've been listening at the door all morning. Heath just left for a meeting with Edison and some woman named Stacy, so it's just Norton. My auntie taught me once that one of the weakest points on the human body is the kneecap. If we kick Norton there, he'll be hurt and then we can run away."

"Run where?" Noah then wonders and Emily purses her lips.

"I don't really know. Maybe somewhere with a phone?" She suggests. "A gas station or a store or something would be good."

"He's coming now," Zoe says. "I hear him!"

They immediately silence themselves and the lock on the door clicks before swinging open. Norton, tired and irritated, is holding a plate of cold pizza. "It's not much, but it's something. You kids haven't eaten in days."

Without another word, Emily knocks the pizza out of his hand and smashes her foot hard into Norton's left kneecap. He screams in pain and falls to the floor, clutching his knee and moaning obscenities as Emily turns back towards the other two children, shouting, "Come on! Run!"

They do as their told. Norton grabs at both kids as they escape, but catches neither of them. He attempts to stop them, tries to get himself up, but is too consumed by the blinding pain and lets them go. Noah grabs Zoe's hand as Emily throws open the door and takes off across the parking lot. They're following her blindly as she navigates them down the road, cars honking at them but none of them stopping to offer the three children help. They feel like they've been running for ages, but as they pass post offices, daycares and restaurants, they still haven't found a gas station or store. Zoe spots one a moment later, a Whole Foods, and they dart across the street towards the front door.

"Sofia and LJ have the phone, right Noah?" Zoe asks as they make a beeline for the payphone near the cash registers.

"I think so," Noah shrugs. "I don't know."

"Do you know the phone number?" Emily asks and both children shake their head. "Okay, let me call my mom, first."

She reaches over and dials her home number, waiting as the line rings and rings but no one answers. Emily hangs up and dials Rita's cell phone, using the last of the quarters she'd found in a jacket pocket in that motel closet. As she does so, Noah glances around the store aimlessly, fear building as he realizes he recognizes no one. Zoe's still holding his hand and she squeezes gently, so he squeezes back. She's watching a family of four choose between spinach and kale when her eyes go wide. There, showing a couple of strangers photos off his iPhone, is LJ, most likely looking for them as much as they're looking for him. Noah can't believe his eyes and Zoe's eyes light up as she takes off running towards him.

"LJ!" She shouts over the roar of friendly conversation and the squeaky wheels of the grocery carts. "LJ, you're here!"

LJ glances up and his eyes immediately widen. "Zoe? Noah?"

He kneels beside a carton of oranges as Zoe propels herself into her cousin's arms and soon after, Noah does the same. All three of them are crying, the fear only now getting to them, and LJ is soon shouting, "Sofia! Sofia, I found them!"

And then Sofia is there and the four of them are hugging and crying and reuniting. When they've calmed down a bit, Noah asks, "Where's Mommy?"

Sofia bites her lip. "We don't know yet, _cari__ño_."

"We haven't found her yet, buddy," LJ says sadly. "But we will. I promise."

"This scary guy came," Zoe explains, tears still in her porcelain blue eyes. "He hurt Ben and Mommy told us to go under the bed and then he took her away!"

"And this other guy called Norton took us to a hotel," Noah continues. "And he locked us in a closet, but Emily kicked him and we got away!"

"I'm sorry," Sofia says. "Who's Emily?"

"I am," Emily answers, stepping closer to the family. "They kidnapped me, too. A few weeks ago, actually. And I've been trying to call my mom and tell her I'm alright, but she isn't answering and I don't know what to do."

"You'll come with us, honey," Sofia offers. "We aren't going to leave you here alone."

"Thank you," Emily smiles gratefully. "And I'll keep trying to reach her."

LJ eyes her suspiciously; the dark, jet black hair, the bright blue eyes, the striking features… She looks awfully familiar. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"Emily," She repeats. "Emily Morgan."

His eyes widen, but to cover it, he turns back to the four-year-old in his arms. "Zo-Zo, these men didn't hurt you, did they?"

She shakes her head. "They didn't do anything to us."

"They just locked us in the closet," Noah tells them. "But they didn't hurt us. Did they hurt you, Emily?"

"No," She negates. "No, I'm okay."

"Let's get out of here," Sofia suggests, taking Noah's hand. "Your Daddy's going to be _so_ relieved that you two are okay."

"Now we just have to find Sara," LJ mutters and Sofia nods.

"Easier said than done."

* * *

It seems like ages and it seems like seconds. It's unbearably loud and it's eerily silent. It's beautiful and it's tragic and it's everything in between. Sara knows nothing except that she's still alive; she's waiting for the pain to come, sure Murphy has shot her in anything but her skull, because she's breathing and thinking and clearly, still living. She waits and waits for the pain to engulf her, but nothing comes. She wiggles her toes and tugs at her wrists and twists her torso, searching manually for the bullet's point of entry, but nothing feels out of place. She hasn't been shot, but the gun definitely went off, so where did the bullet go?

When she opens her eyes, she gets her answer.

"Oh God," She gasps as her eyes fall on Murphy, or at least what's left of him. The bullet has blown his skull away and there's brain matter scattered across the floor and walls. She's been hit with an aerial spray of blood, she realizes looking down, and it's all she can do to turn away from him. She hears a car turn up the gravel outside the house and realizes she has to work _fast_. If Stacy enters the house and finds her alive, she won't be for much longer. Inching the chair towards the window, Sara picks up a piece of glass with her feet, careful not to slice into her skin, and performs a sort of contortionist move to get the glass to her hands. She's sawing at the duct tape, now, as she hears the car door slam and Stacy enter the house.

The tape comes loose the moment Stacy calls out for Murphy and adds some kind of menacing threat to the end of her sentence. Sara's free, now, but she's not sure what to do next. Stacy's footsteps are ascending the stairs, now, and in a moment's panic, Sara picks up the wooden chair she's previously occupied and smashes it against the floor. It collapses but doesn't break and Stacy asks where the noise is coming from, her steps hurrying. Sara repeats her actions again, lifting the chair and smashing it against the ground, watching satisfactorily as one of the legs breaks off and clatters to the ground. She snatches it just as Stacy makes her way to the hallway, brandishing it like a baseball bat and only then eyes the gun resting in Murphy's limp grasp. She has a moment's hesitation, but decides against it. She doesn't kill unless she absolutely has to.

The door crashes open and Stacy's eyes immediately go to Murphy. She's stunned beyond belief, but Sara doesn't give her much time to react. The moment she turns to her, Sara smashes the chair leg against Stacy's skull with all her might, effectively rendering her unconscious, and runs out the door, not waiting to see the effects of her aggression. She takes the steps two at a time and doesn't even contemplate running; she has no idea where she is nor where she should go. Instead, she yanks the car door open, touches a few wires together- she'll have to thank Fernando later- and when the vehicle roars to life, she jumps into the driver's seat and tears away from the home.

She's driving blindly until she finds the road, following signs for places she's never been and hoping that she would, somehow, find a highway that could take her to Durham. She thinks only of Noah and Zoe, of how much she loves them and how much she misses them and how much she wants to help and save them. She's just about to enter a main road- she can see a four-way intersection and a multitude of cars ahead- when her vehicle sputters, spits and comes to a stop in the middle of the road. Sara glances behind her, as if Stacy's following on foot, and the coast is clear but her gas tank is empty and this car will not be getting her to Durham. She's still stuck in Raleigh, stranded on the side of the road in a car that doesn't belong to her and covered in blood that isn't hers.

Sara exits the car and swears profusely. She wants to scream and cry and laugh bitterly all at once. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, maybe it's the hunger, maybe it's the dehydration. But any way she looks at it, she's completely screwed. She kicks the car's tire and then, for good measure, kicks it a second time. She's not sure why; taking her aggression out on the vehicle does nothing to fill the gas tank. She glances at the intersection a few miles ahead, so tiny now, and realizes she'll have to walk. As she begins to do so, a lengthy Greyhound passes by her in a rush of dust and car exhaust. Just down the road a few miles, Sara can see a fluorescent sign for a bus station.

And without a further thought, she starts running.


	10. Ten

**Hello friends! Hopefully wherever you are is nicer than where I am, because it's been raining for three days straight here. However, I'm using that to my advantage and finally seeing "The Great Gatsby" today, so it's not all bad :P I hope you're enjoying "As It Seems" so far. We're about four chapters away from the end. :( Thank you for your reviews and, as always, constructive criticism is greatly welcomed and appreciated!  
**

* * *

Ten

The Raleigh, North Carolina bus stop is labeled Capital Area Transit and it's pretty nice inside, Sara notices, as she ambles through the crowd of travelers in search of the women's restroom. She knows she's attracting stares; why wouldn't she? Her grey shirt is spattered with blood, she's sweaty and out of breath and she looks like an extra out of one of the _Scream_ movies. She nods politely at everyone who double glances at her, feeling like a con on the run again, and finally sees the bathroom, making a beeline for it. The restroom is empty except for a mother and her infant at the changing table in the corner and Sara's heart gives a tug, more than likely remembering her own children were still out there somewhere.

The sinks are those annoying automatic ones, so she has to keep continuous contact with the water flow in order to scrub the blood from her hands and arms. She's shaking; her hands are splashing water unintentionally all over the counter as she attempts to clean them. In an instant she's reminded of her time in Panama, drenched with Michelle Taylor's blood- it's so much worse now that she knows her _name_- and trembling, weak and decimated, towards the door, not sure what she'd find on the other side. The gleaming Panamanian sun had burned her retinas; she'd been accustomed only to the darkness for the previous three weeks. She ran and she ran until she could no longer take a step. She'd called Bruce and he'd immediately sprung for a plane ticket back to the U.S., a bus ticket back to Chicago.

When he'd picked her up at the station, she was still covered in blood, both Michelle's and her own. The open wounds on her back were aching and oozing with pain and Bruce had immediately sent her for medical treatment. But Sara was numb; she didn't feel the pain, neither physical nor psychological, anymore. Gretchen had told her Michael had died in Sona and that was the only thing she needed to know. Bruce had asked her why she was so despondent, why she refused to take care of herself, why she screamed and cried and thrashed in her sleep, but Sara could not answer. If she spoke the words aloud, then she'd have to acknowledge that Michael was never coming back to her and she wasn't sure she could ever physically do that.

But then Bruce had come to her with the startling, miraculous news that not only was Michael still alive, but he was there, in Chicago, looking for her. He was in trouble, but Bruce had told her he'd take care of it; she'd paced the floor of his living room and watched as his sleek town car had pulled into the driveway, a frustrated, irritated and impatient Michael had gotten out. Her breath had caught in her throat; he trudged up the walkway, through the door and rounded the corner before all the past emotions she'd read, all the angst, confusion and guilt, had faded away. He'd stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost and perhaps he felt he was; they'd told her he was dead, so she could only imagine what they'd told him. Overwhelmed by relief and by each other's presence, they'd moved toward each other slowly, cautiously, as if the other would disappear if they touched.

He still smelled the same; it was the first thing she noticed when she was engulfed into his arms and she would have laughed at this recognition if she could do anything else but hold onto him and cry. She hadn't allowed herself to feel, before; suppress it, pretend it didn't happen, make believe it's all okay. Something about him, however, had made her feel everything all at once; she was broken and knew he was broken, too. They had spent the rest of the night in constant physical contact, not leaving the other's sight for a second. They had talked and kissed and cried and made love; they avoided bringing up Panama at all costs. They had almost lost their lives and were on the run again before they could get a proper night's sleep, but that was nothing new. That was their life, back then.

She shakes her head of these thoughts, rubbing her skin raw and taking extra care to get her wedding band to sparkle and shine again. Splashing some water on her face, Sara takes a moment to let the cool water fill her pores and calm her nerves, trying to relax and to not let the stress of the current situation get to her. It's okay; she is okay. She's going to clean the blood off her face- there isn't much she can do about the shirt- and then she is going to walk out of the bathroom and ask a kind stranger for money for the payphone. She needs to get ahold of both Michael and Sofia; she just hopes there will be someone there willing to offer her a little help in her time of need.

Her face no longer looks like the scene of a crime, so she's taking this as a small victory. She's much less sweaty and worn-out looking than before, so she takes a few paper towels, wipes down her face and arms and draws in another deep breath. The mother with the infant eyes her warily and Sara shoots her a smile before turning and exiting the bathroom. She'd ask her for the dollar in quarters, but she's sure her bloodied, sweaty presence has given the woman enough anguish for one day. Instead, she glances around at the crowd of people incoming from a bus that had just arrived in from Fayetteville and hopes someone will be her saving grace.

* * *

The bus from Fayetteville arrives at the Raleigh Capital Area Transit a little before four o'clock in the afternoon. Kellerman's plan is to take out the two Company operatives they know are in Raleigh first and then head to Durham to do the same. Michael honestly couldn't care less about the Raleigh operatives; he'd learned a day earlier that his family is in Durham and that's where his mind is. Distracted and anxious, he follows the rest of the group off the bus and into the station, where they find a cluster of tables to sit and discuss their plans. Alex insists Kellerman should not be a part of the heist, considering he'd killed the last three men when he should have simply arrested them and the rest of the group agrees. Lincoln glances over at his visibly agitated brother and claps him on the back.

"They're going to be alright, man," He assures. "We'll find them."

"But what if they're not?" Michael asks, feeling like that child afraid of monsters in his closet all over again. "I sent them away because I wanted them to be safe… What if I sent them to their deaths?"

"Don't think like that," Lincoln scolds. "You did the right thing. I'll bet you they're safe and I'll bet you The Company's just doing this to get a rouse out of you."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Yeah, I think I just saw it," Alex says next, gesticulating towards the ticket counter. "Call me crazy, but that wouldn't happen to be Sara, would it?"

"If it's not, she's got a twin," Sucre confirms. "Someone who looks frighteningly similar to her."

Without further hesitation, Michael approaches her; it feels as though he can breathe again, as if a weight's been lifted from his chest, just at the sight of her. Sara's asking a stranger, a kind-looking woman in her early fifties, for some spare change for the payphone. The woman obliges, fishes a dollar in quarters out of her wallet, and wishes Sara good luck in reaching her family. Sara thanks the woman a thousand times over, turns and comes face to face with Michael. He can't believe it's her, can't believe she's _here_; her eyes widen in shock and this tells him she feels the very same way. "Sara?"

"Michael?" She gasps, before closing the distance between them and throwing her arms around him. "Michael!"

He's hugging her just as tightly, shielding her in a protective embrace, as his eyes close in relief. _She's okay, she's okay, she's okay_; he keeps repeating over and over in his mind, still unable to believe it. Considering what The Company had done- and had attempted to do- in the past, this is a major victory. It's his fault; he should've never sent her to C-Note's house, should've never separated himself from her, should've never put her in harm's way. She had been right, but then again she was almost _always_ right; only the intense relief of once again holding her in his arms overpowers the guilt he feels. He had worried himself sick; he had missed her, longed for her, _ached_ for her. But she's here; she's okay. And he'd never make an idiotic decision like sending her off ever again.

Sara is clinging to Michael as if they'd been separated for years as opposed to the week, week and a half, it had really been. Tears burn and cloud her vision, but she squeezes her eyes shut, determined not to let them fall. She can't; not here, not now. Instead, she focuses on everything's she's missed this past week and a half. His arms, tight and comforting, around her torso. His voice, low and sweet, whispering how sorry he is, how much he's missed her, how much he loves her. His eyes, cool and piercing and blue (_Just like Zoe's_, she thinks, and it pains her a little), staring deep into hers before he's kissing her, warm and passionate and loving. Ah, yes, his lips; she's missed them, too.

"How are you here right now?" She asks when they pull away.

"We just arrived on a bus from Fayetteville; couldn't get a flight to Raleigh," He answers, his hands still in her hair. "We hadn't heard from you in days. Kellerman said there were operatives here, too."

"There are," Sara confirms. "They attacked Benjamin's house. They _killed_ him, Michael."

"I know," He frowns. "I know."

She glances down, feeling just as guilty, and it's only then that Michael notices her t-shirt is spattered with blood. His heart races again and he feels sick when asks, "Sara, where are the kids?"

Tears spill down her cheeks and this time, she doesn't try to stop them. Misreading this, Michael demands, "Whose blood is this?"

She shakes her head, tears still falling, and his hands come to brace her elbows. "It's not theirs. It's not mine, either. This Company agent… He…"

Unable to bring herself to say it, Sara trails off. Michael says, "Oh thank God. Where are they?"

"I don't know," She cries. "The agents I was with said they were in Durham. But they could be anywhere. I don't know where they are. I don't know what to do. I don't-"

"Hey, hey, we're going to find them, alright?" He assures her. "We'll leave right now. We're going to find them and they're going to be alright. Okay?"

"Yeah," She nods, wiping the tears from her cheeks and smiling slightly at him.

He returns it. "Okay. Come on."

They head back to the table where the rest of the group sits hand in hand. Lincoln is talking away on the cell phone, smiling as if he's won the lottery, and Michael wishes they could all be this happy. Alex is copying something down onto a piece of loose leaf paper from the system Sucre is reading to him and Kellerman is looking as impatient with the rest of them as ever. The others greet Sara warmly, express their relief that she's okay, and she thanks them, sitting in an unoccupied chair beside Fernando. Once again, she and Michael are in constant physical contact; he sits beside her but doesn't let go of her hand.

"Sara and I are going to Durham."

"You most certainly are not," Kellerman disagrees. "Let's focus on one task at a time, please?"

"They have Noah and Zoe," Michael says plainly. "Right now, that's all I'm focused on."

"We have two operatives to deal with in Raleigh before we move on to Durham, Michael."

"One," Sara clarifies. "You only have one, now."

"What are you talking about?" Kellerman asks, alarmed.

"One of the operatives; Murphy, his name was. He's dead." Sara states. "He killed himself right in front of me."

They all cringe and Sucre utters, "Holy shit."

"Yeah, well," Sara shrugs, feigning non-importance. "It wasn't the first time I've seen someone die."

"O-okay," Kellerman eyes her strangely. "So, _one_ Company operative in Raleigh. It'll be over in a matter of seconds. We're taking her down first and then you can go to Durham."

"No," Michael disagrees adamantly. "We're not waiting any longer while some bastards out there have our children. We're leaving. End of story."

As Kellerman once again protests, Lincoln pulls the phone away from his ear and joins the conversation. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"They have our kids," Michael frowns. "They have our _children_, Linc."

Oddly, Lincoln grins, shaking his head and handing him the phone. "No, they don't. Not anymore."

He takes the cell phone from his brother and presses the speaker function, holding it between himself and Sara. "Hello?"

"_Michael? It's Sofia. Linc tells me you found Sara?!_"

"Yeah, I'm here," Sara says, truly relieved Sofia is safe from harm. "Are you alright?"

"_I'm fine; are _you_ alright? LJ and I have been worried sick about you for days! We came back and the place was a crime scene and you and the kids were gone and we didn't know what to do or where to go. Fue un desastre!_"

"I'm okay," Sara informs her. "Just terrified about the kids. We're heading to Durham, now, to look for them."

"_Sara, honey, I have your kids_."

She and Michael stare at the phone and at each other in shock. He asks, "You… You have the kids?"

"_Yeah. LJ and I have been looking for them for days. We just found them this morning at a Whole Foods in Durham._"

"I don't," Sara's shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't understand."

"How did you find them?" Michael asks.

"_Pure dumb luck, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Here, I'll put it on speaker. Hold on._"

There's some shuffling on the other end before a tiny voice asks, "_Mommy? Daddy?_"

"Zoe," Sara says simply, her eyes once again filling with tears.

"Zo-Zo," Michael grins. "Are you okay?"

"_It's really you! Noah, come here! It's Mommy and Daddy!_"

A second voice questions, "_Mom? Dad? Are you really there?_"

"Yes, Noah, yes! It's really us!" Sara confirms. "Are you okay? Is Zoe okay?"

"_We're okay. Are you guys okay?_"

"We are," Michael confirms. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"_No one hurt us. A guy brought us to a hotel and gave us yucky pretzels and cold pizza_."

"_They kept us in a tiny closet in the dark. They never even talked to us._"

"_Zoe was scared_."

"_No I wasn't! You were, too, Noah!_"

"_Nah uh, I was brave._"

"_No!_"

"_Yes!_"

The sound of their children arguing is music to Michael and Sara's ears. "So nobody hurt you?"

"_No, they didn't even do anything._"

"_Yeah, they were kind of nice. Well, not that nice, actually_."

Their parents chuckle. Sara asks, "So where are you guys now?"

"_At a hotel. We're going to Chuck E. Cheese for dinner!_"

Sofia cuts in, "_If that's alright with you two. I figured they could use some fun after the couple of days they've had_."

"By all means," Sara agrees. "Have fun."

"_Where are you, anyway?_"

"We're in Disney World," Michael teases. "We're having dinner with Mickey Mouse right now."

"_No way! That's not fair!_"

"_Daddy you promised! I wanna meet Mickey and all the princesses!_"

"_Can you see the castle? Is it big? Which room does Cinderella sleep in?_"

"_Tell Minnie I said hi, meany. You promised!_"

Michael laughs and Sara rolls her eyes. "Guys, I'm _joking_. We're in North Carolina, just like you."

"_That's not funny!_"

"_Can we see you guys? Can we go home now?_"

"We'll be seeing you really soon, I promise," Sara tells them. "And unlike Daddy, I'm _not_ joking."

"Tell you what," Michael says. "We have a little bit more we have to do here, first. But then in a few days, Mommy and I will come and pick you guys up. We'll go home, we'll pack, and then we'll _really_ go to Disney World."

"_Really? Yay! Disney World, here I come!_"

"_Yay! We're going to Disney World! I get to meet all the princesses!_"

"_Dad? Can we bring Emily, too?_"

This stops Michael in his tracks. "Who's Emily, Noah?"

"_Emily was with us in the closet. She helped us run away_."

At this, Michael and Sara share a glance and look up to find the rest of the table just as dumbfounded. "I'm not sure, buddy."

LJ takes the phone, then, and says in a hushed whisper, "_Uncle Mike, The Company kidnapped Emily, too. And the reason they wanted her… is because she's Gretchen's daughter._"

This shocks the entire table. Lincoln calls, "Are you sure?"

"_She looks exactly like her and her last name's Morgan. What do _you_ think that means?_"

"Thank you," Michael says. "Thanks for clearing that up. We'll, uh… We'll figure out what that means."

They finish their conversation by telling their children how much they love and miss them and that they really will see them as soon as possible. Kellerman then states, "I really am sorry for what they're doing to your family and I'm glad your kids are safe."

"Yeah, I'm _sure_ you are." Michael frowns at him. He stands and the others follow suit. "Are we ready to get out of here?"

"More than," Alex agrees as the group files toward the door.

Kellerman is the last to gather his things, the others filtering out before him. He manages to get his things together soon enough to snag Sara as she goes to leave. "Hey Sara, you have a second?"

Michael eyes him warily and Sara lays a hand on his arm, saying, "Go. I'll catch up."

He nods, but not before giving Kellerman another menacing look. She waits for him to get far enough out of earshot before asking, "What's going on?"

"Look Sara, I just want to apologize," He says honestly. "I really am sorry."

"You already said that."

"No, not just about the kids," Kellerman shakes his head. "About before. About Lance and blueberry pie and what happened in New Mexico. I'm really, really sorry."

Sara glances down at the floor. "You were just following orders. It could have been anybody."

"But it wasn't. It was you," Kellerman says. "And you've been through enough. I was following orders even though I knew what I was doing was wrong. I thought The Company would eventually make it right, but they didn't and they couldn't. It just kept getting worse. So… I'm sorry. I know it's not enough, but I'm sorry. I truly am."

"I know," Sara states. "I forgive you, Paul. I honestly do."

Kellerman nods and then glances toward the door. "Michael doesn't."

"And Michael won't," Sara says. "So I wouldn't count on it, if I were you."

"Don't worry," Kellerman chuckles. "I'm not holding my breath."


	11. Eleven

**Hello again! The rain has finally stopped- hurray! And also, "The Great Gatsby" was amazing. The acting was brilliant, the cinematography was beautiful and I was just, overall, incredibly happy with it, considering it's one of my favorite books. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it... After you read this, of course. ;) Thank you for your wonderful responses! It always makes me happy to see a few reviews in my inbox! Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Eleven

They pile into the van Sucre's obtained- whether he's done so legally or illegally is still in question- and drive towards the hotel they've decided to overnight in. Once there, they discuss the possibility of taking Stacy down in one fluid motion that evening. They decide only a few of them need to go; it won't take six people to take down one woman, no matter how powerful she is. Alex and Lincoln volunteer, anxious to get something done, and ask Sara to describe where she was being held. She does so to the best of her ability, but tells them she was knocked unconscious on the ride over and running like _hell_ on the way out. They head off with well wishes from the rest of the group and Sara is honestly just itching to get into the shower; she's sure she smells like a barn.

She and Michael were granted their own room across the hall, mostly because Lincoln had loudly claimed he wanted to be far, far away from the reunited lovers. She had chuckled and blushed a bit, but couldn't deny his observations. Before any of that could happen, though, she _has_ to clean herself up; when they leave Kellerman and Sucre across the hall, she makes a beeline for the bathroom and only then notices the gash on her hairline. Whatever they had hit her with had been _hard_. How had she not seen this before? Michael follows her, stands behind her and runs a smooth finger along the base of the wound, asking if it hurt. She shakes her head and asks if he has a first aid kit handy; he looks remorseful when he tells her he doesn't. So she cleans it to the best of her ability and is forced to leave it open. She could, if necessary, sew it herself with a simple needle and thread, but it isn't _that_ deep and she has no interest in doing that ever again.

It's the shower that gets to her; she'd never noticed how much she takes showers for granted until she was deprived of them for a few days. Even the cheap hotel shampoo and the bar of soap that is sure to leave her skin dry and flaky don't irritate her; she takes them both and appreciates them all the same. She inhales the steam and washes away the sweat, the blood, the _brain matter_, most likely, to finally get back to herself. Afterwards, she stands only in a towel, finger-combing her damp hair and watching the fog on the windows slowly evaporate. It's only then that she realizes she doesn't have any other clothes.

Michael doesn't seem to mind. When she exits the bathroom, he tugs on the towel and pulls her flush against him on the bed; all thoughts of clothing are, then, completely forgotten.

"Hmm," He kisses her again and he can still hear her heart pounding, even after they've finished. "Now _I_ need a shower."

She grins. "Well I need another one, now."

"You're more than welcome to join me."

"I'll think about it," She teases and he smirks at her.

She begins toying with his fingers, twisting his wedding ring, and Michael asks, "Regretting our decision, are we?"

"No, not all," She laughs slightly. "Just wondering if you're regretting yours."

"Which part of anything that we just did made you think that?" He asks honestly. "Say the word; I'll never do it again."

"Not _that_ decision," Sara rolls her eyes playfully. "I'm talking about this; about tonight and about this whole operation. You guys have your team and I don't want to ruin the way you run things. I don't want to break up the rhythm or get in the way or anything."

Michael glances at her and asks, "Well _now_ whose self-esteem needs work?"

She looks back. "I'm being serious, Michael."

"So am I," He tells her. "No one thinks you get in the way. You're a valuable part of this team just like the last time. We need you; you aren't going to ruin anything. And they all think so too, believe me. They are all just as grateful as I am that you're here with us."

"Are they? Should I have sex with them, too?" She asks cheekily, breaking into a grin.

Michael grins right back. "There you are. I was afraid I'd lost you, for a second."

Sara shakes her head. "You could never lose me."

She's only half-joking and they both know it. And suddenly, the tone of the room changes from lighthearted and playful to a much darker place. Michael runs a hand through her still-damp hair, saying, "I'm not sure that's true. It seems like every time I try to protect you, I come dangerously close to just that."

Sara shakes her head, "It isn't your fault, Michael."

"Isn't it?" He counteracts. "If I had kept you and the kids with me, they couldn't have reached you."

"They would've figured out another way to get a rise out of you," Sara says. "They always do. And being around here with their father and uncle wielding guns at every turn is not something that I want the kids to see."

"How much did they see at C-Note's house?" Michael asks worriedly and Sara sighs.

"Nothing. We were in the back bedroom so they didn't see anything," She insists and then frowns. "The same probably can't be said for what they heard."

"Sara," He asks, almost pained. "What _happened?_"

She blinks and only then realizes he hadn't been with them. She had been painfully aware of this fact in the moment when everything was happening so incredibly fast. But now, since she's so used to having Michael read her every thought, she cannot even fathom the fact that he has no idea the kind of dangers she and the kids had endured all those days ago. He doesn't know; he doesn't even have the faintest idea. She's not sure where to begin, honestly. It had all happened so fast. One minute she'd been making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The next, she was awakening, tied to a chair, in the middle of nowhere. How could she even begin to cover everything that had happened in between?

She starts from the beginning. "Well, we'd just gotten home from taking the kids to the park. There's a great one, just by Benjamin's house. He said he always used to take DeDe there; she loved the monkey bars. Anyway, the kids were starving, so I told them to wash up for lunch and I'd make them some sandwiches. They were in the bathroom down the hall and I was spreading some jelly on some bread or something when there was this crash, this enormous crash, coming from the front window of the living room. It took me a while to realize someone was shooting at us. Benjamin was armed- he was _always_ armed, even when we were in public- and he told me to get the kids and get to the back bedroom. He said he'd take care of it."

"Sofia and LJ were at the grocery store," Sara continues. "And I was so worried they would come home early and get caught in the middle of everything. I was holding onto Noah and Zoe and trying to answer all of their questions but they had so many and I just wanted them to be quiet so we didn't draw attention to ourselves. I was trying to block the sounds of the gunshots out so they couldn't hear them. It was muffled already because we weren't in earshot but I didn't want them to be afraid. There was a gunshot, a scream and a thud before there was complete silence. I had no idea what happened, but knowing, now, that Benjamin's dead, I'm assuming that's when it happened. That's when he was killed."

"I got him involved in this," Michael says, stricken. "I asked if he would help and he agreed; he wanted you to be safe, too, and in the end, it cost him his life. I took him away from his family."

"No, you didn't," Sara disagrees. "The Company took him away from his family. Not you."

"Sara, it's my fault he's dead."

"Do you need a reminder of what you said to me when I said that about Bruce?" Sara asks. "Benjamin chose to help you. The Company killed him, not you."

Michael looks as though he's still skeptical, but he remains quiet, so Sara continues on. "After, there were footsteps in the hallway and so I told Noah and Zoe to stay under the bed and to be super quiet. There was nothing in the bedroom but a letter opener and this guy with a snake tattoo decided that bringing a knife to a gunfight didn't suit me. He brought me at gunpoint out to this battered van and another guy hit me over the head with something. I'm not sure what it was, but it hurt like hell; I was unconscious for a significant amount of time."

"They were supposed to bring me to Durham," Sara explains. "I heard them say that and that's why I left that phonebook page in the mailbox with the phone. Just in case, you know? But Stacy decided at the last minute to move the operation to some abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, so we were still here, in Raleigh. She and Murphy 'tortured'- and I use that term very lightly- me for a few days. For some reason they thought using psychological warfare was going to harm me. They obviously hadn't done their research or else they would've known I'd been through much worse."

"Finally, Stacy got an order from Edison saying he wanted me dead," Sara concludes. "Only she was adamant that Murphy had to be the one to kill me because he needed to prove he deserved to be part of The Company. She left for a meeting with Edison and some other guy and Murphy couldn't take the pressure and shot himself instead. I knew he wasn't going to do it. He didn't even _want_ to. But I thought I could talk him out of it; maybe talk him into joining the fight _against_ them instead. He didn't have to die. Stacy didn't take it lightly, but I escaped anyway. I'm sure she's fuming. I found the bus station and tried to clean myself up a bit before asking that really nice woman for some money for the phone. But then… There you were."

She glances at him when she's finished and his face, he's sure, is unreadable. This beautifully broken woman has been through a world of shit and it's entirely his fault. He remembers the day he first met her, and most likely will for the rest of his life; how she had been a humanitarian, always looking for an opportunity to improve the world she was living in. He remembers her wit and her intellect and her impeccable sense of humor. He remembers how she could read him as easily as a book from the very start; how she had called his bluff when he said he wasn't used to needles or how she knew all of his injuries stemmed from much more than a game of basketball or a pair of garden shears slicing through his boot. He remembers the sheer terror in her eyes during the prison riot and the utmost trust and faith she put in him to get her out of there.

Sara had been delicate and graceful, innocent and forbidden. He remembers her like this and he remembers when she had changed; she had gone from someone shaking and horrified ("_I just took a man's life!_") to someone who didn't hesitate to hold a woman at gunpoint, who held a knife to the throat of the woman who'd tortured her and begged for information, who had shot and killed her would-be mother-in-law. Sara has always been a remarkable human being and these new personality traits had only made Michael love her more, but he always wonders if she'd changed because she _had_ to, not because she wanted to. He always wonders if she hadn't done what she'd done for him, if she hadn't left the infirmary door open and followed him across the country, if she hadn't let him ruin her life, would she still be that innocent prison doctor who had once joked about her cluttered apartment and told a bitter story about her father?

He isn't sure and he'll never know, but the guilt eats at him to this very day. It had been his fault, after all. She wouldn't have had to change if it wasn't for _him_. The past seven years in which they'd returned to their normal everyday lives had transformed her personality, however. She isn't as hardened and prepared for combat; marriage and motherhood had brought out a whole new side of her that had almost completely covered this dark side. But still, every so often, she'd go there. Anytime Sofia mentions Panama or Linc brings up the Scylla project will do it and every year, the anniversary of her father's death, which she still blames herself for, comes back to haunt her. And of course, being tied to a chair and watching a man take his own life is sure to bring Sara back to a place she would rather not be.

Michael looks at her, now; her story's a tragic one and yet she still finds a way out of the darkness. She'll claim he's what keeps her going, but he knows that, more often than not, it's the other way around. "Sara, I love you."

She looks somewhat startled by his random admission but nonetheless pleased. "I love you, too."

It isn't enough; it's _never_ enough, but then again, words have never been enough to truly express to her just how much she means to him. He hadn't even been sure it was possible to love another person this much, but she continues to prove him wrong everyday. Lincoln had told him, all those years ago in Fox River, that his breakout plan was great in theory but there was one thing he couldn't plan, one thing he couldn't count on- people. He had never been more correct in his life. Michael had gone into this thing with one end result in mind and it had never been falling in love. He'd never expected anything like that could happen, but there were sparks instantly and it didn't take long for them to burn into a full-fledged flame. She's the only person he has ever loved and the only person he ever will.

She's everything to him and he would fight The Company forever if it meant they could never take her away.

* * *

"They're on to us, sir."

Nathaniel Edison continues to stare out that great glass window of his Clearwater mansion, ignoring Stacy's premonition. He had expected this sooner or later; Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows weren't the kind of men to go down without a fight. Still, he had to hand it to them; they'd made it this far without Edison even knowing they were coming. Clearly, they had inherited _some_ aspects from their dearly departed mother. Footsteps outside the door signify that Heath has made it, too; he's out of breath and looks entirely apprehensive, like a puppy waiting to be scolded.

"You do not have good news for me, do you, Heath?" Edison asks without looking at the man.

"No, sir," Heath frowns. "We lost the children."

"Lost them?" Edison implores. "They're not a set of keys, Heath. How does one lose two children and a teenager?"

"It was yesterday, sir, when we had our meeting," Heath explains. "Norton let them get away."

"I'm starting to wonder if either of you are really taking your jobs seriously," Edison reprimands. "Two of my agents die under your command and one blows his own brains out."

"It was Sara, sir," Stacy defends herself. "She made him-"

"And you lost her," Edison sneers. "And you, Heath, lost the children. Don't you know that they were our only connection to Scofield? How do you suppose we get to him now? We have no leverage."

"I'm sorry, sir," Heath nods. "I take full responsibility for our actions. Norton's always had a soft spot when it comes to kids and I should have never left him alone with them."

"Well then you know what needs to be done," Edison says matter-of-factly. "I want him dead by this evening."

If Heath is shocked by this order, he doesn't show it; merely nods and turns to go. "Yes, sir."

"And Heath?"

"Sir?"

"Do make it look like an accident," Edison advises. "We can't afford any slip-ups, here."

"Yes, sir."

Stacy shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Edison sighs. "Is there something you'd like to ask, Stacy?"

"It's just that… If Sara and the kids have returned to them, then they'll know pretty quickly where we are."

"Yes, Stacy, they will. Now you're understanding just how grave the situation is."

Stacy nods. "They're coming for us."

Edison shrugs. "Let them come."

"What do we do, sir?"

Edison once again turns to that giant pane of glass, sure of how this would end. "We prepare for war."

* * *

Sometime after midnight, they fall asleep. Showers, once again, forgotten, they're tangled in each other's arms, relishing the ability to actually get a good night's sleep, something that only seems to come when they're together. She's dreaming of a time when they're all together again, of taking the kids to Disney World and living their lives normally once more. Slumber is greatly appreciated; it had been sparse the last couple of days. However, it doesn't last long; a little after two a.m., there's a sharp knock on their hotel room door. They're both startled awake, ready to spring into action and fight against whoever it is that dares disrupt their slumber.

"Whoever that is better have a death wish," Michael grumbles, getting out of bed and crossing the room to the door. Sara smirks and follows him.

It's Sucre and he looks just as sleep-deprived as they feel. "Hey, papi. They're back."

That's all he needs to say; Michael and Sara follow him across the hall to the other reserved room, Sucre swiping them in and allowing entry to the room in which Alex and Lincoln had finally returned. They gather around, taking up couches, chairs and the foot of the bed in order to hear what the two men have to say. Kellerman exits the bathroom, then, up and ready as if it's the middle of the day and asks if anyone wants coffee. They stare at him strangely before refusing; none of them have any interest in staying awake. Alex runs a rough hand over his exhausted features and Lincoln yawns, waiting for everyone to settle before giving the details.

"It took us forever to find that old house," He begins, turning to Sara. "You were right; it really is in the middle of nowhere."

"I told you," She says. "I had no idea where I was."

"Anyway, we got there and the whole place was swarming with cops and EMTs," Lincoln continues. "We asked what happened and the police said they found a body inside. No prints, no foul play suggested."

"The COD was an 'unfortunate suicide'," Alex then states. "Stacy was nowhere to be found. If I had to guess, Edison's keeping his henchmen close to him, now. They're dropping like flies, otherwise."

"We only have four left, now," Lincoln concludes. "Norton, Stacy, Heath and, well, Edison."

"Which means they're all most likely holed up with him in Clearwater," Michael figures. "And we need to figure out how he operates so we can use that against him and take him down."

"And how are we gonna do that?" Sucre asks.

Michael already has an answer. "Gretchen."

Kellerman groans and says, sarcastically, "Yes, let's go see her again. Because she was _so_ helpful the last time!"

"She'll help, this time," Michael says. "After all, we have Emily."

"We're going to blackmail her using the only person she cares about," Lincoln observes. "Ruthless but impressive."

"We're really going back to Miami?" Kellerman frowns and Michael rolls his eyes.

"Edison's in Clearwater; we have to go to Florida, anyway," He reasons. "We might as well get all the ammunition we can while we're there."

It's settled, then; the next morning, they gather their things and head straight to the airport, on their way, once again, to Miami, Florida. It's a fairly short flight, only a little over an hour, and once they land, they turn to their resident car expert, Sucre, to get them a ride. The drive to the penitentiary is a quiet one; Kellerman is still fuming and does not fully understand why Gretchen would help, considering she'd done absolutely nothing for them the last time. The rest of them are all trying to figure out who should be the one to talk to her. Sucre jokingly suggests that it should be Lincoln, since that had worked out _so_ well the last time, and Lincoln can't get a refusal out fast enough.

"Absolutely fucking not. If I never see that bitch again, I'll be a happy man."

"I can do it," Sara offers and all eyes snap to her.

"Are you sure?" Michael asks in concern, but she nods her agreement.

"Yeah, why not?"

He looks at her imploringly. "You _know_ why not."

"That's in the past," Sara says. "Plus she's handcuffed. What could she possibly do?"

"You don't have to do this," Lincoln shakes his head. "I'll go."

"No, I want to," Sara insists. "Maybe I can convince her to help us. She may not be Emily's legal mother, but she still considers her to be the most important thing in the world."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I am," She nods, adamant. "Gretchen and I will have a talk, mother to mother, and I'll get all the information we need."


	12. Twelve

**Going to save you the author's note because it's super hot here and I can barely function. Enjoy and thanks as always for the reviews!**

* * *

Twelve

"Do you know what you're going to say?"

Sara bites her lip in contemplation. "I was planning on winging it."

Lincoln chuckles. "Don't let Mike hear that. How have you been married to him for this long and not learned how to plan?"

"Hey, I plan things," She defends. "But I made this decision in the spur of the moment, so I didn't have much leeway for planning."

"If I were you, I wouldn't small talk too much," Alex suggests. "Just get down to business."

"Gee Alex, and here I was thinking I'd start off by asking how the weather's been and if she likes the prison food," Sara teases and the others chuckle. "Would you all relax? I can handle this. Trust me, it isn't the first time I've tried to get something out of Gretchen Morgan."

"This time you don't have a scalpel, though," Michael warns and Sara scoffs.

"Yeah, but she's _handcuffed_."

"A scalpel?" Lincoln questions. "Remind me never to mess with you."

"Oh yeah, that's a good story," Sara replies, reaching for the door handle. "I'll tell it when I get back."

"Hold it," Kellerman halts her and all eyes snap to him. He's just tucking his cell phone away in his jacket pocket when he says, "We may have some information that could alter what Gretchen tells you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've just gotten word that the body of Rita Morgan has just been found in her Santa Monica home," Kellerman informs the group. "The police are crying freak accident, but we all know that's not the case."

"Obviously. Did _they_ do this?" Sucre asks and Kellerman shoots him a look.

"What do you think?" He smirks. "An Amber Alert has also been issued for Rita Morgan's fourteen-year-old daughter Emily. This wouldn't happen to be the same Emily your kids found, would it?"

"The very same," Michael responds.

Lincoln adds, "Don't tell them. They'll take her away and we need her. Plus, she's safe now. Who knows where they'll send her?"

"Does it look like I'm planning on telling them?" Kellerman asks sarcastically. "I'm just saying tell whoever it is that's in charge of Emily to lie low. Local police won't know they saved her; they're harboring a minor illegally right now and that's considered abduction."

"Oh is it? I wasn't aware," Lincoln shoots back, just as sarcastically. "Sofia and LJ know to lay low. They're hiding out at the Ella Braxton house."

"The _what_?" Kellerman asks. "I've never heard of that!"

"Not many people have," Michael says. "That's the point."

"Whatever," Kellerman shakes his head, turning his attention to Sara. "You be careful. Something tells me Gretchen isn't going to be pleased about the fact that these bastards popped her sister and kidnapped her kid."

"Thanks for the advice, Paul," Sara sighs, exiting the vehicle. "I've got it under control."

She hops out of the car, squinting in the sunlight, and begins the slow walk towards the gates of Miami-Dade Penitentiary. It's hot and the sun is beating down on her cranium; she remembers this from the last time they were here. Florida weather is temperamental and unrelenting; the heat is baking her unprotected skin as she is buzzed into the visitor's center and led down a hall in order to sign in. Security is high; this is a maximum-security prison, after all. She goes though metal detectors and body scanners before being allowed entry. The guards and COs all look at her strangely, as if they know who she is but can't quite place her name, and when she does eventually give it, they remember in an instant.

They don't quite find it as hilarious as they did when Lincoln had visited. Instead, they seem almost angry that she's here. They eye her distastefully as she requests a visit with Gretchen Morgan and hesitate when approving her visit, sending her to a visitation room all the way at the end of the hall. If this is supposed to bother Sara, it doesn't; she simply thanks them and waits patiently in the plastic chair designated her own. She's waiting a good twenty minutes before another CO enters, without Gretchen, and once again, stares at Sara as if she had personally victimized her. Sara stares right back, determined not to give this woman the advantage, and she sneers a little before asking,

"You the one waiting to see Gretchen Morgan?"

"Yeah, that's me." Sara answers evenly.

"Well you're outta luck," The CO says. "Gretchen ain't seein' visitors today."

"She'll see me," Sara demands. "I'm the attorney they sent on behalf of Rita Morgan. I have measures of inheritance to discuss with her."

"You sure don't look like counsel, Dr. Tancredi," The CO responds. "Yeah, you think I don't know who you are? You're the one responsible for that disaster up in Chicago. You ain't no attorney. Just some selfish disgrace who cost a bunch of good people their jobs all because you wanted to help your boyfriend break outta prison. What makes you think I'm gonna let you talk to Gretchen Morgan?"

"Alright, I'm not an attorney. But I do know that it is against the law to deny an inmate their basic rights; one of which is visitation," Sara states, not once breaking eye contact. "So unless you want me to cost you _your_ job, you're going to bring Gretchen in here right now and that's the last I want to hear of it. Okay?"

The CO does not look pleased, but she responds. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good," Sara shoots her a satisfied smile and watches as she leaves the visitation room and slams the door behind her.

Pleased with herself, she leans back against the chair, twisting her wedding ring around her finger- a nervous habit. No more than a minute later, the door pushes open again and the very same CO from the moment before leads Gretchen into the room and sits her roughly in the opposite chair. Gretchen should be a grieving mess, but her face is blank, her mouth twisted in a scowl. Her hair is, honestly, the first thing Sara notices, mostly because instead of the short choppy bob she remembers, Gretchen's hair is once again long and flowing and silky, much like it was in Panama. Again, the CO slams the door on the way out and Sara wonders what it is she should open with. Luckily, Gretchen takes one look at her and decides she'll be the one beginning the conversation.

"Of all the people to have walked through those doors," Gretchen deadpans. "I've seen cops, lawyers, Company agents before they got busted… Hell, I saw _Lincoln_. But never in a million fucking years did I think I'd be seeing your face again."

"I know the feeling," Sara replies. "Look, Gretchen-"

"You think I don't know why you're here?" She asks. "You think I can't tell that you need something? How dare you. How could you come here and ask me for something? Especially today. My sister's been _murdered_, Sara. Do you have any _idea_ what that's like?"

"I do, actually," Sara responds. "The Company killed my father. Believe me, I know _exactly_ how you're feeling."

"Really? So they killed your father to get to you, huh?" Gretchen asks, not really interested, just angry and upset.

"No, they killed him because he was getting too close to the truth," Sara clarifies. "But that doesn't mean I didn't feel like it was my fault. I know that's how you're feeling right now. It's pretty clear."

"In what world _isn't_ it my fault, Sara?" Gretchen shouts. "They actually had the fucking nerve to kill her while I was in prison; where I couldn't do anything about it. Those cowards. As if they thought this was some kind of punishment for not rejoining The Company. They can rot in hell; they can _all_ rot in hell!"

Sara doesn't reply. Instead, Gretchen then says, "One thing's for sure- someone better find Emily safe and alive. Because if they so much as remove a hair from her head, so help me God, they will never see the light of another day."

"Gretchen, Rita died protecting your daughter. There's nothing you could have done," Sara isn't going to sugarcoat it, not for her. "I'm very sorry for your loss. But despite everything and despite what you think, I'm actually here to help you, as long as you'll help us."

"That's very noble of you, Mother Teresa," Gretchen spits back. "But I already told Lincoln everything I know, which is _nothing_."

"Somehow, I highly doubt that," Sara disagrees. "Do you want to know what _I_ know?"

"Enlighten me, wise one."

"I know that about three weeks ago, two Company agents named Heath and Norton were ordered by Nathaniel Edison to kidnap your daughter Emily at any cost," Sara begins. "I know that Rita protected Emily with her last dying breath and refused to give her up. I know that they shot her before Emily came home from school and the moment she stepped off the bus, they forced her into their van. I know they drove across the country to keep her holed up in a motel in Durham, North Carolina."

With each admission, Gretchen's expression grows more and more frightened. Sara continues, "I know that they were keeping her in a closet and feeding her nothing more than cold pizza and stale pretzels from the motel's vending machine. I know that Heath and Norton had orders to keep her until you decided to rejoin The Company and, if you, again, declined, they also had orders to kill her. I know Emily looks exactly like you, with her big blue eyes and her long dark hair, but she still doesn't know that you're her mother."

Gretchen leans closer and implores, "How? How do you know all of that?"

"I know all these things because The Company kidnapped my children, too," Sara answers expertly. "Emily helped them escape and she's currently safe and out of harm's way, waiting with Sofia and LJ in Fayetteville."

"Escaped?" Gretchen shakes her head in disbelief. "You… You guys have her?"

"We're protecting her," Sara nods. "She saved my children's lives, most likely. The Company has no idea."

As much as Gretchen doesn't want this to change things, Sara can see that, clearly, it does. She stares at the table a long, long time before asking, quietly, "What do you want?"

"Information," Sara states simply. "Help us take The Company down and we won't return your daughter to them."

"You wouldn't," Gretchen sneers menacingly. "You could never turn a child over to them; you're a _mother_."

"I am," Sara agrees. "And I know what it's like to have my children's lives threatened, too. But if it comes down to Emily or Noah and Zoe, I think you can understand I'd pick them over her."

Gretchen again hesitates, but does eventually say, "I like you, Sara. We have a lot more in common than you think. In another life, I bet we'd be good friends."

"I doubt it."

She grins devilishly. "If I do help you, I'm not doing it without some guarantees."

"I expected as much."

"First of all, I want Emily to be safe no matter what," Gretchen demands. "Whatever Sofia and LJ are doing to protect her now, they'll continue to do. You will _not_, under any circumstances, sacrifice my daughter for your little vengeance run."

"We wouldn't do that," Sara says. "It wasn't ever an option; it was just to show you how serious I am."

Gretchen rolls her eyes but continues. "Second, anything I tell you could very well be outdated. It's entirely possible that they changed Company protocol once I was arrested. The General didn't trust me very much in his final days, so I doubt he let our old rules and circumstances stay the same following my incarceration."

"Is this a plea to not shoot the messenger?" Sara asks, bemused.

"You catch on quick, sweetheart," Gretchen says, sarcasm dripping from every word. "And third, I want you to get your guys in government to pull a few strings and get me out of prison."

Sara's immediately shaking her head. "I don't think they can do that."

"Try."

"Aren't you eligible for parole in year or something anyway?" Sara implores.

Gretchen smiles wryly. "That's cute; you think you know how sentencing works. Look, you know me; I'm not exactly good at making friends. It doesn't look like I'll be getting out on good behavior anytime soon."

"I'll ask Paul," Sara says. "That's all I can do. I can't promise you anything."

"Well isn't that just the story of my life."

"Gretchen," Sara then says. "I need you to tell me everything you know about Nathaniel Edison."

"I really wasn't an expert on the guy," Gretchen says and Sara smirks.

"Right," She smiles fondly. "You were only an expert on The General?"

Gretchen is not amused. "Do you want my help or do you want to get cute?"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, I could write you a book, but time's running out, so I'll give you the abridged version," Gretchen begins. "The Scylla cardholders were like the popular kids in high school; everyone was afraid of them, everyone secretly wanted to be them. It was the highest honor to be given a Scylla card; it was literally like holding a key to the world. If Krantz gave you a card, it meant he trusted and respected you more than anyone else in the group and to have that kind of acceptance and power… Well, I can imagine there was nothing like it. I never was awarded this honor, but that's a discussion for another time."

"Everyone had their role, their title, within The Company, and the Scylla cardholders were no exception," She continues. "The General was our leader, of course. He made all the major Company decisions and told everyone what to do and when to do it. Lisa Tabak came next in line, simply because she was his daughter. She handled all of the foreign affairs; the Company agents we had stationed all over the world. She was good at that, actually, and I think that's why the current Company is so small. Without Lisa, who's going to do the networking? But I understand she wants no part in this and, honestly, I can't say I blame her."

"After Lisa came Oren," Gretchen says. "He handled all of the finances, which was no small feat in an organization that spanned the entire globe. He had an in at the Department of Treasury since he'd worked there so long and The General saw him fit for the job. He was good at it, too. Then came Scuderi, who handled all of American affairs, because he was incredibly power hungry. He always got on The General's nerves- recruiting men to sleep with his wife was never something Jonathan could understand- but he never got his card taken away because he was so good at what he did. I heard The General shot him and, to be honest, I can't say I'm surprised."

"Then Tuxhorn," Gretchen recalls. "Tuxhorn's job was to make sure all of the Company hit men and assassins cleaned up after themselves. He handled the crime mostly because he'd committed a slew of minor crimes himself and he was good at evading authorities. These five were always a great team. They always worked in sync with one another and kept the world from learning that an organization like The Company ever existed. Still, Scylla is a six-headed monster, and for that to be true, we have to talk about Edison."

"Now, Edison's place in The Company was to bring new members in and guide them through orientation," Gretchen explains. "Everyone had always been a little distrusting of him. He was sketchy, to say the least; he owned mansions in all parts of the world, but never visited any of them. He had two grown children, one in rehab for a narcotics addiction and one who had broken his legs overseas and was trying to sue the Italian government. And, of course, he had a _huge_ gambling problem. But, so did Scuderi, so we tried to overlook these things."

"Edison was definitely the lowest in ranking of the Scylla cardholders and this must have eaten away at him for a while," Gretchen goes on. "When things got bad, when you guys had obtained Scylla and handed it over, The General was executed, Lisa resigned, and the others were killed. Except Edison; he fled. He spent a year or so in China trying to evade this mess. The Company, what was left of it, responded by killing the narcotics-addicted kid. When he still didn't respond, hoping it would all blow over, they killed the dumb one, too. His wife blamed him and left him and it was all falling to shit, really."

"Then things got quiet, for a while," Gretchen amends. "I suppose this is when your government people were arresting or killing them all. This is when the idiot decides he wants to be a part of the game again. He sends out a message both to me and to Lisa, I assume, begging for us to rejoin and rebuild. Lisa didn't respond and I declined. He rounded up the ten or so people that were scattered around the country and began all over again. Except this time, they're smaller and weaker, but they don't hesitate. If they sense weakness, if they sense someone doesn't belong, they'll kill them, Sara. I'm sure you've seen it. Edison's trying to weed out the weak ones early, trying to compensate for his own past mistakes, so they don't fail, this time."

"My advice?" Gretchen concludes. "Do _not_ let your guard down. I'm assuming you've already made a dent in them, but if you're dealing with Edison, you're dealing with a cold-blooded killer. He isn't going to go down without a fight and it'll be a bloody one, too. Have you ever been to his Clearwater mansion?"

"We're headed there as soon as possible," Sara confirms.

"The place is _giant_," Gretchen says. "And I can guarantee it's filled with possible ends you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. It'll be like _Home Alone_ if _Home Alone_ was rated R and ended in everyone dying a slow and painful death. He's willing to die for this cause; if he can't win, _nobody wins_. Simple guns and passionate speeches aren't going to be enough, this time. You won't be able to talk him down so I wouldn't even try."

"So what do you suggest?"

"He'll most likely have people beside him," Gretchen says. "His lapdogs, his henchmen. They'll be easily distracted and easy to take down. If you somehow make it past his maze of traps and explosions, you're going to want to find his conference room. It's the last room at the end of the hall on the second floor. He'll be by the pane-glass window; he loves it there. Don't hesitate, do you understand? If you have a clean shot, _take it_. I know you're Gandhi reincarnated and you want to escape without as much blood on your hands as possible, but it's no use wasting the cell in federal prison. Just put him down."

Sara nods and there's a knock on the door as the CO reenters and tells them their time is up. "Gretchen, thank you so much. You've been an enormous help."

"Keep Emily safe and get me out of here," Gretchen calls back. "And Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember what I said. Remember _every detail_," Gretchen insists. "And… Just be careful, alright? Edison's not as bright as the General, but he's much more ruthless; simply because he's got nothing to lose."

Stunned, Sara makes her way down the hall, back through security, and out the front door of the prison. She crosses the distance between the edge of the wall and the parking lot in a few easy strides, yanks open the car door and throws herself inside. She can tell they've all been talking about her; most likely laying down a few ground rules for the next day and formulating the beginnings of a plan. Sara hopes they haven't gotten far. With all she's just learned, she's sure it'll change absolutely everything. Sucre comments on how she'd been in there for a while and Sara replies by saying it's because Gretchen had had a lot to say.

"Well," Michael asks. "What _did_ she say?"

"More than I could've ever hoped," Sara replies. "And I know how we can take down Edison."


	13. Thirteen

**Hello friends! In this chapter we have the big take down and in the next we have a little wrap-up chapter to tie up the loose ends. In other words, there are only two chapters left, including this one. :( I'm kind of sad to see this end; I worked so hard on it! But I'm glad to see it was appreciated! Your reviews made me very, very happy. Thank you so much and enjoy this one!**

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Thirteen

Clearwater, Florida is sandwiched in between two separate bodies of water, the Gulf of Mexico and Tampa Bay, and isn't exactly easily accessible. They're sure Edison planned it this way; it would make it incredibly difficult for the authorities to reach him and by the time they eventually did, he would be halfway to Mexico. Fortunately, Kellerman and Alex had already alerted the authorities, giving themselves a head start. The drive to Clearwater is a slow and quiet one; tensions are running higher than ever as they prepare for their final battle against The Company. Plans in mind, they wait in an anxious silence for their time to come, for their destination to yield the results they're expecting.

They find Edison's mansion almost instantaneously; it's the only one secluded from the rest at the end of a long, winding street. Parking the car a good five miles away, the group, guns at the ready, begins the trek towards his mansion, stepping carefully and keeping an eye out for trip wires. It isn't long before they've found one; a mile or so in, a long piece of copper wiring is embedded in the sandy road. As they all step carefully over it, Kellerman makes the note that if they had decided to drive any further, they would've exploded into a million pieces of automobile and body parts. The thought isn't reassuring to anyone, but they soldier on.

Edison's mansion is undoubtedly the largest on the street. It has a large, rounded circular driveway- empty, they notice, but that's no indication of the house- and ornate marble staircases leading up to the giant oak door. It's at least three stories- that they can tell from the lavish exterior- and off to the left side is a guesthouse, larger than most people's actual home. They can hear the crashing waves of the ocean against the shore and the cry of few dozen seagulls and assume, correctly, that Edison's backyard is the salty sea. It's an absolutely stunning home; one to retire in, one to praise and show off, one to be endlessly proud of. They're unsure why Edison is willing to sacrifice such a beautiful property or why he would fill it with such useless dangers.

"Gretchen wasn't kidding, huh?" Sucre murmurs to Sara. "This place is _huge_."

"Huge is an understatement," Sara agrees.

"Alright, listen up," Kellerman pulls rank. "We've only got one shot at this, so do not fail me now. Everything we've done these last two weeks has led to this moment."

"We're running low on time, so I'll cut to the chase," Alex says. "We are dealing with three very dangerous Company operatives today. If you get them in your sights, you take them down."

"Right," Kellerman nods. "We only need to keep one of them alive, so if you have a clean shot, take it. They won't hesitate, so you better not, either."

"Let's hope it doesn't have to come to that." Alex says uneasily. "Try to keep them alive, if possible."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that?" Kellerman repeats in questioning. "Are you serious?"

"Am I serious about not having anymore blood on our hands?" Alex asks sarcastically. "Yeah, I think that would be the best possible outcome."

"The best possible outcome is any outcome where these bastards aren't in power," Lincoln cuts in. "Now are we going to do this or are we going to sit around and talk about it?"

"Testy," Kellerman smirks. "Alright, you know the drill. We scan the perimeter. I have the Coast Guard on alert if they should try to sneak out by water, the south side. They're not going anywhere that way. Sucre, Sara, you two take the east wing. Lincoln, Michael, you'll take the north. Alex and I will take the west wing. If anything should go wrong, and I mean anything, get the _hell_ out of there. We're not losing people if we don't have to; at least, not _our_ people."

"Must be a great job, Paul," Michael says sardonically. "Deciding whose lives are expendable and whose aren't."

"Michael, I've been dealing with these people for over fifteen years," Kellerman deadpans. "Trust me, they certainly have no regard for human life."

"Can we just get this over with?" Sara asks. "The sooner we're finished, the sooner I can go home to my kids."

Michael nods in agreement. Alex says, "Alright, good luck, everyone. Let's take these bastards down."

They separate and Kellerman and Alex head towards the west wing of the mansion. Creeping around the exterior perimeter, they find there are nothing more than a few outer traps that they easily avoid. They pass by an open window; Alex peers in and notices shards of broken glass awaiting anyone that tries to enter. It seems harmless enough; he reaches in to clear the area, but Kellerman stops him almost immediately. Moving the glass requires moving the ornate curtains covering the window and, as they've just come to notice, there's a giant cinder block attached to the loose curtain rod, ready to crush an unsuspecting skull. Instead, Alex yanks on the curtain, pulling his arm back in time to watch the cinder block fall and crush the shards of glass into even tinier pieces.

Kellerman's staring at him in disbelief. "Why would go and do that?

Alex says, "Trust me. I've got a plan. Enter in through the veranda."

"The what?"

"Just go!"

He takes off toward the side porch just as there's a male voice from inside. "_I think we got one!_"

Heath comes into view a moment later and Alex stands to his full height, brandishing his gun at Heath's chest. "Freeze! Don't move!"

But as per expected, Heath panics and takes off down the hall. Alex propels himself through the window, wary of the broken glass and any other danger that might befall him. He can hear heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors and scans the room quickly- there's a propane tank in the corner, but it seems to be hooked up to the trip wire on the other end of the room, so Alex makes a mental note not to go that way. Instead, he army crawls into the formal living room, avoiding the motion sensor attached to a blow torch, and finds Heath writhing on the floor under Kellerman's foot. Alex stands, adjusts his clothing, and remarks, "These bastards are _prepared_."

"Well that's what your friend said, didn't she? She warned us."

"I'd hardly call Gretchen my friend."

"Gretchen?" Heath spits, disgusted. "That _bitch!_ I told Edison to kill her while he had the chance, but no! He had to keep her alive; he was convinced he could change her, make her work with us. I knew it wouldn't work; the bitch has to die. You know how easy it is to kill someone in prison?"

"Something tells me you'll be finding out real soon," Alex retorts. "Now where are your friends?"

Heath chuckles. "What makes you think I'll tell you that? I ain't saying _nothing_."

Kellerman smashes the barrel of his gun against Heath's temple. "Unless you want a bullet in your brain, I suggest you start talking."

"I'm not talking," Heath insists. "It'll be fun to watch you struggle through our little fun house trying to find them."

"We're not alone, you know," Kellerman states, removing the gun and pulling Heath to his feet, slamming him against the wall to cuff him. "Sooner or later we're going to find your friends and when we do, you best believe we'll be charging you with hindering a federal investigation. Which, considering the circumstances, will be the _least_ of your worries."

"Ooh, I'm shaking," Heath feigns fright and then laughs. "What do you have your panties in a knot over, anyway? We're not the bad guys, here. Hell, you two worked for us once. You know what we can do."

Kellerman goes to respond, but Alex cuts him off. "You're not the bad guys here? Really? You expect me to believe that people who have booby-trapped a house with mines, fire and explosions are not bad guys? You want me to think that people who kidnap children and keep them in closets or kill people just for fun are the good guys? You think that running a country absent of ethics and morals is the work of some upstanding, do-no-harm citizens?"

Alex leans in closer, forces Heath to meet his eye. "You people killed my son. You _murdered_ him in front of my ex-wife; shot him in the stomach and waited a full _five minutes_ before putting him out of his misery. He suffered; _we've_ suffered these past seven years trying to move on. But you can't move on; Cameron… Cameron doesn't get to move on. He would've been twelve this year, you know that? He would've been in seventh grade, maybe played a few sports, had a few crushes. But this will never happen because you took him away. You people, these people you think aren't the bad guys, took a five-year-old's life. Trust me, I _know_ what you can do."

Heath doesn't respond. Alex asks, "Nothing to say? Nothing to defend yourself with?"

"Not so mouthy when things get personal, are you?" Kellerman adds. "Come on, wise guy."

They lead him back out through the veranda, heading towards the front of the house with their prisoner in tow like the fresh catch of the day. Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Sucre and Sara have just entered the east wing, having first navigated through a field of homemade land mines and a bed of rusty nails disguised beneath a Persian rug (as if they'd ever fall for that one). They studiously avoid the kitchen, where the carving knives are set to fall from the ceiling and impale on impact, and the dining room, which looks too pristine and perfect to be trusted. Instead, they move into the sitting room, a giant room with a few dozen windows, guns drawn and ready to fire.

Sucre grins at Sara and says, "I missed this. You and I, taking down the bad guys together. Just like old times."

She grins back. "Yeah. Sucre and Sara- the Dream Team."

He laughs but before he can respond, a bullet whizzes in between the two and crashes through one of the many windows. They leap out of the way, shielding themselves behind an old bookcase as Sucre says, "And then of course, something like this always happens. _Just_ like old times."

"Where do you think they're coming from?" Sara asks as another bullet flies past and lodges itself in the wall before them.

He tentatively peers out at the staircase, gun drawn, and sees the barrel of a pistol being drawn back slightly. Hearing a bunch of clicking, he turns back to whisper, "The landing on the staircase. She's reloading."

"She?"

"I saw a bunch of red hair," Sucre explains. "Unless it's Bozo the Clown, up there."

They inch away from the bookcase, guns pointed at the wall where the staircase disappears and wait for her to emerge. She doesn't; her gun does instead and, without being able to see, she aims blindly and begins shooting without searching for a target. Bullets soar through the air, clipping statues and cracking picture frames, the gunpowder making the entire room cloudy. They try to avoid her gunfire as best as possible, but after one comes dangerously close to taking Sara's life, they realize they are dealing with someone much more skilled than they had previously assumed. Sucre yells for Sara to get down and, in doing so, in that split second's hesitation, a bullet claims his left leg as its new home. He cries out in pain and Sara's at his side in a moment, eyes widening in horror.

"Fernando," She breathes. "Oh my God."

"I'm fine, Doc," He hisses as she touches his thigh. "I'm fine. Let me at her."

"You need to sit down," She instructs, guiding him down the wall and leaning him against it. There's a _lot_ of blood but she can see the silver bullet lodged beneath his skin. "It doesn't look like it's hit the femoral artery, but we need something to make a tourniquet out of and I don't have anything."

"I'll be alright," Sucre insists again. "You go get the bitch."

"You're not alright. You need immediate medical attention and I don't have the proper facilities to treat you right now."

In all the confusion, they hadn't even noticed the bullets have stopped trying to take them out. But they notice a moment later when Stacy, standing at the bottom of the stairs, says, "Well if it isn't my resident escapee. How're you doing, Sara?"

Sara's turned around and pointing her own gun at Stacy in one fluid motion. Stacy, holding Sara at gunpoint just the same, says, "You know I had that order to kill you. I might not have gotten a chance to do it before, but you better believe I'll do it now."

"You ain't killing her," Sucre says weakly, lifting his own gun, and Stacy laughs.

"Oh, are you going to stop me?" She sneers. "I'd like to see you try, gimpy. By the way, I lost one of my bullets. I think your leg found it."

Sucre glares at her and Sara says, "Let me tell you how this is going to work, Stacy. You're going to lower your gun, disarm the main door and follow us to our car where you'll be promptly arrested."

"Oh yeah? Is that so?" She smirks. "And if I don't oblige?"

"If you don't, we have no problem knocking you out and dragging your sorry ass out of here by your hair," Sucre fills in.

"Why don't you tell us where your friends are, Stacy?" Sara then asks. "Heath and Norton?"

"Heath could be anywhere," Stacy says nonchalantly. "And Norton, I'm guessing, is scattered across the continent, rotting in unmarked graves."

Sara implores, "Why?"

"He couldn't follow orders," Stacy says matter-of-factly. "He had _one_ job- to keep an eye on the little brats and he let them get away."

"My children, you mean," Sara corrects. "You killed him for letting them get away."

"Well _I _didn't kill him; for that, you'll have to talk to Heath. But that's it in a nutshell, yeah."

"I ought to kill you just for that."

"Aw, Mama Bear protecting her cubs. How _adorable_."

"But my days of killing people are over," Sara continues, ignoring Stacy's previous statement. "We're going to settle this like the mature adults that we are."

"Are we?" Stacy sneers. "You're telling me how things are going to go down, now?"

"Seems that way."

"Let me tell you how _I_ see it going down," Stacy says, cocking her gun and stepping closer to Sara. "I'm going to finish the job I was asked to do. I'm going to shoot you, in the kneecap or maybe in the stomach; somewhere you can _feel _it, somewhere that'll make you suffer. And then, when you just can't take it anymore, I'm going to blow your pretty little brains out all over the room."

"No. You're not."

At the sound of another voice, Stacy turns away from Sara, just in time to receive a bullet to her left shoulder, her gun clattering to the floor. Lincoln and Michael are standing at the door and it's the latter's gun smoking; Sucre and Sara hadn't even known they'd been in the room. Michael picks up her gun, hands it to Lincoln, and says, to a gasping, writhing Stacy, "That will be the _last_ time you'll ever threaten my wife."

Sara turns to him in disbelief, asking, "How…?"

"We heard commotion," Michael states simply. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," She affirms, but motions towards Sucre. "She shot him. I don't have anything to treat it with."

"Will this do?" Lincoln asks, producing a handkerchief from the underside of the bookcase. "Looks like they were trying to cover their tracks. They failed."

"That's perfect, actually, thanks," Sara replies, taking it from him and immediately tearing it in half to make a tourniquet. Lincoln and Michael wait for Sucre's wound to be dressed before turning to ascend the stairs.

"We'll find Edison," Michael says. "You think you can handle her?"

Sara glances at Stacy, still gasping in pain. "I can manage. Good luck."

He places a hand on her arm. "Thanks."

Sara turns to drag Stacy outside, Sucre limping after her, as Lincoln and Michael head upstairs toward Edison's conference room. It's the last room at the end of a long, darkened hallway according to Gretchen's directions. When they find it, they do a quick search of the corridor to be sure it isn't laden with traps and, surprisingly, it's clean. The French doors at the end of the hall leading into the conference room are wide open, which seems incredibly suspicious to the brothers, who approach the room cautiously. There, just as Gretchen described, is Nathaniel Edison, standing at the opposite side of the room, his back to the door. He's peering out the great glass window, watching the waves lap against the shore of the beach, and Lincoln raises his gun- a clear shot.

Just as he's about to take it, Edison says, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Michael and Lincoln pause, stepping into the room, the doors closing behind them. Edison turns and meets them face-to-face. "You shoot me and all three of us blow to hell."

He motions towards the edge of the room where a bomb's been rigged to blow, the timer ticking down second by second. They've got two and a half minutes left, according to the glowing red numbers; Edison says, "Well, I guess you can shoot if you want. It'll be over sooner. The waiting is the worst part, really; all the anxiety. Either way- wait or don't- we're all going down."

"Fine," Lincoln decides, turning toward the door. "Then we'll leave you to it. Our work here's done."

Michael looks skeptical, but follows his brother anyway. Lincoln tugs on the doors, but they won't budge. He pushes; still nothing. It's as if the doors are locked from the outside. Edison smirks, "Seems like we're doomed either way, huh? You lost your lives the moment you let those doors close behind you."

Lincoln, in a fury, crosses the room and brandishes his gun against Edison's temple, shouting obscenities and empty threats that are doing nothing to stop the man from taking all of their lives. Michael, on the other hand, says nothing; he merely crosses to same side of the room Edison's on and peers out the very same window. He's trying not to think that this might be the last two minutes of his life; that the mere passing moment on the stairs with Sara was the last time he'd ever speak to her and that the Disney World trip he'd promised his kids would never come to be. But as he continues to stare at the ocean, at the sandy surf, he realizes it doesn't have to be this way. He can still make things right.

After all, not everything is as it seems.

"You don't know how long I've waited to meet you two," Edison says, Lincoln's gun still pressed flush against his temple. "Your father always spoke very highly of you both. It's how we knew so much about you; how we framed you for Steadman's murder. You were just too _easy_ a subject. Your mother said a lot, too, but not all of it was positive and most of it was about Michael. Guess she didn't like you too much, huh Lincoln?"

"Well we had something in common then," Lincoln growls. "I hated that psychotic bitch."

"We did too, believe me," Edison smirks, nodding towards Michael. "If we get out of here, remind me to thank Sara."

"Why are you ruining your life like this?" Michael asks in honesty. "It was over all those years ago and no one knew where you were. You could've lived your life in seclusion, like Lisa. Why go through all this trouble?"

"Psh, _Lisa_. She's a coward. Ran away when the going got tough because she couldn't handle it," Edison scowls. "And I did all this to finish what they couldn't! I did this to finally get to _you_. Burrows and Scofield. We've wanted you dead for years and now I'm finally going to do it. I'm going to succeed."

"What do you need us to be dead for?" Lincoln asks. "What good'll that do you?"

"You two _ruined_ my life!" Edison shouts. "You were out of prison, you were free and cleared, but that wasn't enough for you! No, you had to be noble and fight the conspiracy and stick it to the man! You got Scylla without us even knowing you were around; do you have any _idea _how incompetent that made me look to The General? He lost control; he lost _everything_. And by extension, so did I!"

"I lost my home," Edison lists. "I lost my kids; The Company killed them in retaliation for not doing my job. Before, they never would've gotten away with it, not with Tuxhorn on them. But he was long gone by then. So of course my wife blamed me for their deaths and she left me. I lost everything I'd ever had all because two _ex-cons_ decided to be Dudley Do-Right for a day!"

"You think you know our story?" Lincoln implores. "You have no _idea_ what we went through! We never did anything wrong; on the contrary, we were trying to make everything right and you know what happened instead? Everyone close to us got _burned_. The Company killed my son's mother, Sara's dad, Mahone's son… The list goes on and on. You people were ruthless and unforgiving so why do you think we should forgive you, huh? Why do you think we should pay for _your_ mistakes?"

"You said we ruined your lives," Michael adds. "I fail to see how that's true. If you're committing crimes and finally getting caught, I call that justice. Now what you're doing here, _this_ is ruining lives. Not ours, but our families'. I have two kids, Lincoln has a son; if you kill us, you're taking these kids' parents away. I know you know what it's like to be a parent, but I bet you don't know what it's like to lose one. Ask us; we lost them both- _twice_."

Edison stares at them before grinning maniacally. "All the more reason to do it."

Lincoln is seething; Michael sighs and says, "Okay. Then I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way."

"The hard way? What are you talking abo-?"

Before he can finish his sentence, Michael leans forward and uses all his force to push Edison out of the window, the glass breaking around his body as he shouts in terror and collides with the sandy earth, rolling a little and groaning on impact. He's okay; they can tell by the way he sits, disoriented, and brushes some sand off his suit. Michael turns to his brother and asks, "You ready? Because we're next."

"Never jumped out a window before," Lincoln clears his throat, stepping onto the windowsill. "This'll be a first."

"We've got forty-five seconds before this house goes up in flames," Michael says, glancing back at the clock. "It's a homemade bomb so I'm guessing it won't do much, but we're still not going to want to be around for the detonation."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

The two jump from the window, roll out of it, and each grab hold of Edison. He's protesting, but he's still in pain (he hadn't landed on his feet, after all) so he isn't moving too much. Lincoln and Michael are sprinting towards the deck on the other end of the house, pulling themselves underneath it just in time for the west wing of the house to go up in flames. Windows burst open, glass shatters down like a hailstorm, and the fire produces a great black billowing smoke. They wait underneath the safety of the deck for a bit as the debris continues to fall before dragging themselves out, Edison between them, and heading to the front of the house. He's still groaning between them, but Lincoln and Michael aren't paying him any mind.

Sirens wail in the distance and grow closer and closer as Lincoln tells Edison, "Just think- you would've gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for us meddling kids."

Michael laughs. "_Scooby Doo_? Interesting reference point."

"This is what your kids force me to watch, man," Lincoln defends. "I'm working with what I've got."

They're walking down the road, now, watching as firemen flee towards the house to put out the blaze and cops ask witnesses and neighbors for their points of view. Off to the right, they see Sara and Sucre, the latter propped in an ambulance, bullet removed and properly bandaged, the former watching him like a hawk to be sure he's alright. To the left, Alex is observing two squad cars, one holding Stacy, the other holding Heath. And up ahead, waiting with open arms for the prisoner they've been hunting down for so long, is Kellerman, a swarm of policemen behind him. Edison begins to slow his steps even as Lincoln and Michael propel him forward.

"No. Don't turn me in. I'll make it worth your while. We can work out a deal."

"Nah, we're done taking orders from you," Lincoln tells him. "It's time you start doing things our way."

They shove him towards Kellerman and Michael says, "He's all yours, Paul."

Kellerman looks almost gleeful at this prospect, handcuffing him and reading his Miranda rights as if he's just told someone they'd won the lottery. When he's finished, he shoves Edison, head first, into an awaiting squad car. Michael watches with satisfaction, eyes leaving the scene only for a moment when Sara appears by his side. He turns and engulfs her in his arms, telling her it's over, it's finally over. She grins and tells him it better be, because she isn't doing this ever again. They turn to go, prepared to leave the scene immediately, when they hear Edison's voice, once again, calling from the back of the police car. When Michael turns to face him, Edison is no longer wearing the apprehensive look, but a menacing, unwavering one instead.

"You may have taken me down today, but if you think there won't be a new Company someday, think again," Edison states adamantly. "Someone's always going to want the power. Someone's always going to want to take over the world."

"Maybe you're right, Nathaniel. But there will always be someone to fight you," Michael replies truthfully. "Someone will always want to change the world. Someone will always be there to save it."


	14. Fourteen

**Hello again- and for the last time! We've reached the end, folks! This chapter is pretty pointless, actually, but it ties up a few loose ends and wraps the story in a nice little bow haha. Thank you all so so much for reading and for reviewing! I've really, really appreciated the response. It helped me get through some rough writer's block and moments where I had a few plot holes! This will most likely not be the only story I write for Prison Break, mainly because I've enjoyed writing it so much, so keep an eye out for me. Maybe I'll write something else soon. ;)**

**Thank you so incredibly much, once again, and for the last time, enjoy! It's been a fun ride!**

* * *

Fourteen

The police cars pull away and the fire has long since been put out, although the charred remains of the mansion are unsalvageable. The crowd had died down moments before, the excitement leaving with the neighbors and press, and soon, the only people left were the original six who had infiltrated the mansion that very morning. Arrangements had already been made for Sofia, LJ and the children to be flown into Orlando and Michael, Lincoln and Sara are chomping at the bit and ready to leave to go meet them there. But, before they go, Kellerman calls one last meeting in order to go over the final logistics. He pulls five envelopes out of his briefcase before turning and addressing the group.

"Well, this is it, people," Kellerman begins. "We've reached the end of the road. It's really over, this time."

"It better be," Lincoln tells him. "If you contact me again, I'll break both your arms."

"Charming," Kellerman jokes and begins handing out an envelope to each of them. "On behalf of the United Nations, I would like to personally thank you for your time and commitment. As previously discussed, this task was placed at the utmost importance and your participation in the operation was not taken lightly."

Sucre is the first to open his and he balks at the sight of a check made out in his name. "Five hundred thousand dollars?!"

"You earned it, Fernando," Kellerman smiles. "You all earned it."

Michael and Sara share a look, the former asking, "What are we going to do with a million dollars?"

Kellerman, again, grins. "Take that trip to Disney, Michael."

"With this kind of money, we could move in," Sara adds.

"Why didn't you say anything about the money when you were bribing us?" Lincoln asks Alex, who shrugs.

"I didn't know we were getting money, honestly."

A phone rings, then, and it takes Kellerman a second before realizing it's stemming from his own pocket. He answers, nods a few times and then holds the phone to Alex, saying, "It's the FBI."

Alex takes the call immediately, stepping away from the group in order to have a more private conversation. Kellerman then decides he has to depart, shaking hands with Sucre and with Lincoln before turning to Michael and Sara. He grins that million-dollar grin and says, "I really hope we never meet again, Michael."

Michael agrees. "The feeling's mutual, Paul."

He turns to shake hands with Sara as well. "Take care, Sara."

"You too," She smiles politely.

They watch as he climbs into his town car and idles a moment, more than likely waiting for Alex, who's still chatting away on the cell phone. When he's finished the conversation, he approaches the group to say, "The FBI just offered me my job back. They're impressed with everything I've done and with all my hard work, they said they could really use me."

"Congratulations."

"I don't know if I'm going to take it," He considers. "I've got a really good thing going at the UN. Do I really want to go back to a life of chasing convicts?"

"It's up to you," Michael tells him. "Me, I'm done running. And I'm done making decisions for other people."

"You don't have that great of a track record recently, anyway," Lincoln teases. "Killed Shales and never caught us."

"Well, there is that," Alex snorts. "I don't know. I'll think about it. For now, Kellerman's my ride back to Washington."

He hugs Sucre and both offer the other well wishes. Lincoln claims he doesn't give hugs and instead offers a handshake. "Good luck, man."

"Yeah, you too, Linc," Alex smiles, turning to Sara. "Goodbye, Sara."

"Goodbye," She smiles back, pulling him into a hug. "Don't be a stranger, understand?"

He chuckles. "I won't. Not like the last time."

Michael agrees, shaking Alex's hand and saying, "The government might not come for friendly visits, but _you_ always can."

Alex nods. "I sure will."

He bids farewell once more and then climbs into the car with Kellerman. Sucre, too, decides this is the end of the road for him. He's booked a one-way flight back to Chicago that leaves from the St. Petersburg-Clearwater airport in about an hour. Lincoln tells him to be safe, to keep an eye out for his children, and Sucre offers the same, saying he'll never take another day for granted again. Sara tells him to keep his bandage dry and if he ever has any other questions, to call her; he tells her he'll be fine because the best doctor in the world has treated him. And Michael tells Sucre he _must_ visit more often; he's missed his best friend. Sucre agrees and says he will only if they do the same.

Once all three members of their group have gone, it's just Michael, Sara and Lincoln left standing on the side of the long, winding road, the salty ocean lapping at the shore a few feet away. It reminds them very much of how things ended last time; Michael and Sara had married on a beach much like this one and at first no one knew what to do with their newfound freedom. Eventually they'd all gone home to move on with their lives, which the three suppose they must also do this time. A quick ride to Orlando to reunite with their families will do that for them, no doubt. Michael glances from his brother to his wife and realizes, much like the last time, he needs nothing more.

"What do we do now?" Lincoln asks.

"Now," Michael replies. "We move on."

* * *

Orlando International Airport is packed like a tin of sardines with travelers, but even still, when the 2:15 flight in from North Carolina empties into the terminal, Sara can pick out her children from a mile away. They run to her and Michael, screeching with excitement, and Sara's immediately checking them all over for bumps, bruises, cuts and any other visible sign that they had been kidnapped and held in a closet. Thankfully, she finds nothing; instead, she pulls Noah into her arms, standing and bringing him with her. Michael effortlessly lifts Zoe as her tiny arms wrap around his neck, telling him she'd missed him as he tells her he loves her. Sara tries not to, really she does, but a moment later she's crying. Noah pulls back in her arms a bit to wipe the tears away, telling her not to cry because he's okay and Zoe's okay and _they're okay_ and after all, Mommy, crying is for when you're sad, not happy.

She and Michael switch kids a moment later, Zoe kissing both of Sara's cheeks over and over as Noah hugs onto his father tight and doesn't let go. And it's in that moment that everything is worth it; enduring the long distances and wielding guns and being tied to a chair and watching people die had all been worth it because the alternative had been letting them get away. The last thing Michael and Sara want is for their children, their beautiful, bright, resilient and _happy_ children, to live in a world where they have to fear a governmental conspiracy. They'd beaten them, taken down the bad guys, and made the world a slightly better place in which their children could grow and thrive.

Michael glances over his shoulder, where Lincoln is having just as much of a joyous reunion with Sofia and LJ, telling them not to worry; that now it is truly and completely over. It's then that Michael remembers the fifth party; Emily Morgan is standing quietly and nervously off to the side, watching as these two families reunite and not getting the chance to do the same with her own. He glances at both Sara and Lincoln, silently asking both of them what they're going to do about her. Neither one of them have an answer. Noah still in his arms, Michael steps a bit closer to Emily and smiles warmly, attempting to make her feel welcome in the unfamiliar situation.

"Hi Emily," He greets her. "My name's Michael."

"Hi," She smiles back. "Do you know when I'll be able to go home? I miss my mom."

Michael hesitates. "I'm not sure yet."

"I want to take Emily to Disney World with us," Noah tells his father again. "Please? Can we?"

"When are we going to Disney World?" Zoe asks, toying with Sara's hair. "Can we go right now?"

"We'll go soon, baby," Sara promises. "We have some things we need to figure out first."

Sofia then gathers the adults together, the children taking a seat on the many plastic airport chairs and talking animatedly about which ride they'd like to go on first. Sofia says, "I didn't tell her about Rita. I didn't know how."

"No, it's okay," Lincoln tells her. "I don't think we should be the ones to tell her."

"Then who should?" Sara asks. "Her father's dead, her mother's in prison and her adoptive mother was murdered. She doesn't have anywhere to go; we're all she has right now."

"You said one of Gretchen's many conditions was to be released from prison," Michael implores. "Do you think Kellerman can do that?"

"You really want her back out on the streets?" Lincoln questions in disbelief.

"She isn't a threat anymore," Michael reasons. "And she's the only family Emily has left."

"I'll call Paul and see what he says," Sara suggests, whipping out her cell phone and dexterously dialing his number. "I can't guarantee anything."

"If she does get out, Emily will have to stay with her," Michael explains. "If not… I don't know. But someone's going to have to tell her sooner or later that she won't be returning to California."

Surprisingly, LJ steps up. "I'll do it. She and I kind of established a rapport the past couple of days."

"Son, you don't have to do this," Lincoln shakes his head. "We'll see what Kellerman says. We'll have him tell her."

"No," LJ shakes his head. "It should come from someone she trusts, not some stranger."

LJ goes over and sits beside Emily, his face grave. It's almost as if she can sense what he's about to say and within moments of him speaking, she breaks down into sobs. He's patting her back awkwardly, apologizing profusely and telling her he, too, knows what it's like to have The Company kill a parent. Sofia then asks, "Should we tell her about Gretchen, too?"

"You mean that she's Emily's real mother?" Michael clarifies and Sofia nods. Michael shakes his head. "No. We'll let Gretchen handle that. She's been traumatized enough for one day."

Just then, Sara returns to the group, the cell phone pressed to her chest, Kellerman on hold. "Paul says that, under the circumstances, Gretchen will be released in six months pending the trials of Stacy, Heath and Edison. He's counting on them to clear her name and even if they don't, he says he'll be able to pull some strings and make sure she doesn't serve anymore time."

They nod and Lincoln asks, "And what about Emily?"

"She'll be under Gretchen's care once she's released from prison and he's working on the legal documentation as we speak," Sara says. "But until then, since she's a minor and doesn't have a legal guardian, Emily will be placed in foster care."

Sofia gasps. "Foster care?"

"No, no that's bullshit," Lincoln disagrees. "She's lost so much already and now she's going to be taken away and just shoved in some home? No. Not happening."

"Well there isn't anything I can do," Sara says regretfully.

"No, but there's something _we_ can do," Lincoln states, glancing at Sofia. "Tell Kellerman- _ask_ him- if it would be alright if we took care of her until Gretchen got out."

Sofia smiles. "Really?"

"Yeah," Lincoln nods. "I mean she's been with you and LJ for the past week. I just think she should be with people she knows rather than strangers. Especially now."

Sara grins and says, "Okay. Okay, I'll ask him."

A moment later, some good news comes from the other end. "Paul says he'll have to file some paperwork and it could take a few days to process, but that it should be fine."

Lincoln grins, too. "Fantastic."

He and Sofia crouch beside Emily, who's stopped crying, but is still sniffling here and there. Lincoln says, "Hi Emily. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Thanks," She sniffles. "I kind of had the feeling something like this would happen, but it doesn't mean I was ready for it. I'm really going to miss her."

"I know you will, sweetheart," Sofia says. "You're going to live, now, with your Aunt Gretchen, but until she's ready for you, we were wondering if maybe you would want to come stay with Lincoln, LJ and I."

"Sure," She smiles slowly. "I would like that."

"Great," Lincoln smiles back. "Now before we get out of here, is there anything you'd like? Would you like to maybe head back to California? We could visit her grave; you could say goodbye?"

"No," Emily's adamant, shaking her head. "I don't want to go back there."

"Do you want to maybe call someone?" LJ asks. "A friend or a neighbor that could be worrying about you?"

"_No_," Emily insists. "No, I don't want to."

She's visibly upset and they all wish they could make things better. Lincoln asks, "Well, is there anything you _do_ want to do?"

Emily thinks for a while before glancing at Noah and Zoe and then back at Lincoln and Sofia with a smile. "Well, I've never been to Disney World."

"_Disney World!_" Noah and Zoe cheer and this settles it; they're headed to Disney.

* * *

It's a celebration trip that also serves as their very first family vacation. They drive the fifteen, twenty minutes or so to Lake Buena Vista Drive, are greeted by the majestic purple arches and Mickey Mouse and the gang, and the children screech with delight. Kellerman's generous endowment couldn't have come at a better time; they hadn't brought more than a couple hundred dollars cash with them on their journey, but with his money in their pocket- and the rest in the bank- Michael, Sara and Lincoln book a week of Disney World fun, deciding to stay at one of the resorts for double the magic. That very first night, before any of the fun had begun, Michael and Sara order room service, settle with their children in one of the three beds, and watch the complimentary Disney vacation planning video, their children giddy with glee.

Their week of Disney enchantment is nothing short of magical; they buy their children personalized Mickey ears and Noah insists they buy one for their dear Uncle Linc, too. He wears it with pride, despite how ridiculous he looks, a grown man of his stature in Mickey ears. He takes a new photo of Michael, Sara, Noah and Zoe outside of Cinderella's castle and this comes to be one of the best from the entire trip. They ride the teacups and It's A Small World and the Haunted Mansion. They have breakfast with Mickey, Minnie and the gang, soar with Peter Pan to Neverland and find buried treasure with the Pirates of the Caribbean. They travel to Africa and Asia on a wild safari at Animal Kingdom, soar to the future and blast to the past at Epcot and bask in the glitz and glam of fame and fortune at Hollywood Studios. On the hotter days, they splish and splash through the cool waters of Disney's own water parks, Blizzard Beach and Typhoon Lagoon. It exhausts the children; they fall asleep instantly each night, but each morning, they're up at the crack of dawn, Mickey ears atop their heads and joy in their hearts, ready for the brand new day.

On the last night of their vacation, Lincoln and Sofia insist that Michael and Sara take a night off. They feed the kids and bathe them and tuck them into bed before leaving them with their trusted uncle and pseudo-aunt (Lincoln and Sofia had never made it official, but they were as good as married). Michael and Sara decide to visit Downtown Disney, the strip of clubs and shops for Disney's adult guests looking for a little bit of nightlife to carry them away from princesses and pirates. But they don't end up visiting the clubs or shops; instead they're just content to amble through the streets, hand in hand, under the city lights.

"Well this is like déjà vu, isn't it?" Michael asks.

Sara laughs. "Yeah. Except we're not on a beach, this time."

"No. No beaches in Central Florida, I'm afraid," Michael says. "Although we can make it more authentic if we talk about baby books and first words or first steps or whatever it is I said."

She grins. "Wouldn't make much sense, now."

"I guess not," He agrees and then says, "We should have another baby."

"I'm all for it," Sara says, glancing over at him. "As long as _you_ have it, this time."

"Hey, you're the doctor," He chuckles. "You guys figure out a way to do that, yet?"

"Not quite."

"Guess you're stuck with it, then."

Sara shakes her head, changing the subject as she asks, "What are we supposed to do when we get home? The kids have missed three weeks of school. You and I haven't showed up for work in ages; we've probably been fired."

"Who needs it?" Michael shrugs and when Sara glances at him in disbelief, he adds, "I'm serious. We have a million dollars under our belt now; we'll buy a boat. Sail around the world, homeschool the kids… It could be great."

"Yeah," Sara agrees. "Except that neither one of us has homeschooling certification. I also doubt that the kids would enjoy uprooting their lives to sail around the world living on a boat."

"You're right," He sighs. "But _we'd_ enjoy it."

"We would. That was the original plan, right?"

"It was indeed."

They amble in silence for a while before Michael says, "I don't know what we'll do once we get back. Is it bad that I don't care?"

Sara glances at him, a hint of a smile on her face. "How can you not care?"

"Because you and I, once again, defied all odds, went up against The Company and survived," Michael details. "We took them down, for good this time. I don't care what happens next. For once, I don't want to plan. I don't need one. I've got you, I've got Noah and I've got Zoe. That's all I need."

Sara grins. "I love you."

Michael grins right back. "I love you too."

He bends down and connects their lips, kissing in the moonlight, under the twinkling stars. In the distance, the booming of fireworks from Magic Kingdom signifies the beginning of the Wishes Nighttime Spectacular. They're too far away to see the fireworks, but above the tree line they see distant colors sparkling above the palms, blue and green and pink. It's beautiful and magical, but Michael knows once you've experienced true magic, the astounding, life-altering nature of true love, everything else pales in comparison. They kiss again, but they're smiling too wide and too elatedly to continue. From afar, an elderly couple watches as Michael and Sara continue down the strip, commenting on how happy, how blissfully in love the two look.

And for once, _finally_, they truly are. There's nothing hidden below the surface, nothing to fear, nothing to dread. Their lives are complete and wonderful and light, beautiful and majestic and filled with an endless love that no one, not even The Company, could take away. They head back to the hotel, turning Lincoln and Sofia away and thanking them for their watchful eyes. They kiss their children goodnight, pack up their things and prepare their airplane boarding passes for their early morning departure. They stuff the endless souvenirs into their suitcases, shower and ready themselves for bed. But through it all, the blissful smiles never leave their faces. They appear as though they've never been happier; they look as though everything they'd been through, both in these last two weeks and in the past seven years, had only made their love grow exponentially. They seem as though their lives are full of hope and promise and love, linked together with an unwavering happiness.

And for once, everything really is as it seems.


End file.
